


The Oath Of Mars

by Croagunk



Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croagunk/pseuds/Croagunk
Summary: In the midst of the Faction War, a disillusioned Lawbringer and a Peacekeeper he once called friend travel south in pursuit of a mysterious enemy. A sequel to my previous story, 'The Battle Of Rosa Collis'.





	1. Curios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers, today I present to you my second story in the wonderful world of For Honor! Now, we move away from the rainblasted muck of the Chosen's homeland and travel south, to a place of mystery. A place far away, further even than the homeland of the Ashfeldian legions. There, a great power looms ready to be tapped, an old glory, waiting to be turned to grander purpose. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated, and without further ado, I humbly present...

 

* * *

**The Oath of Mars, Part 1: Curios**

* * *

Gradivus was not his real name. But he bore it all the same, for he was chosen. An Aspect of Mars. Deemed his most honored, he was the Strider, the one who marched forth. His greatest champion, assigned the greatest duty.

"Ultor, the blade."

Extending one rough, war-calloused hand, he accepted the  _pugio_ offered by his lesser Aspect. Taking the sacrifice's hair in the other, he pulled the head back till the front of the throat stretched taut, adam's apple bulging. He was bound tightly, and gagged. There is no omen more ill than a sacrifice that defies it's own offering. There is no greater honor than the letting of the blood, to be the cup-bearer of the god of war himself.

Placing the blade calmly to the throat, Gradivus pressed in and pulled across.

* * *

A certain peacekeeper sat calmly in her quarters within the mountaintop headquarters of her order, innumerable tomes piled around her. She had gone through twelve candles this night alone. They were not merely assassins, but antiquarians. She was now more the latter than the former. The ancient schematics of Ashfeld's great war machines had long stayed safe in the hands of her Sisters, along with other historical records. Knowledge of all kinds found it's way into the tower. She had once seen eyewitness reports of a 'firelance', a weapon of terrible power and unknown function, in the hands of kingdoms far to the east that had long been lost to time. She had seen firsthand accounts of life before the Cataclysm.

But this? She had never seen  _this_  before.

War raged to the north. Apollyon had won, even in death. Even now, the thought gnawed at her mind, slowly driving her insane.

But this? Well, it was a distraction, at least.

All people know of the Empire. Once, it stretched across the known world. But no one knows what happened to them.

But this? This offered a solution.

When they fell, the Legions rose, and the people they had subjugated for centuries took to Valkenheim. The Warborn said they overthrew them. The Chosen said they waged a war and won. The Legions said the earth simply swallowed it up, like the Cataclysm come anew.

But this? This just might be the truth.

She suddenly became aware of a knocking at her door. How long had that been going? Then she heard a voice. A familiar one. One she hadn't heard in a long, long time.

**Oh no.**

* * *

For the tenth time, a certain lawbringer pounded at the door, now hard enough to set the hinges rattling. Did she hang herself? From what her aide said, that seemed likely. He has his money on a slit throat, though. Her aide didn't know her as well as he did. If she wanted to die, she'd make sure she left a mess for someone to clean up, not a corpse and some rope.

"God's sake, Elizabeth, open up!"

At the sound of a voice, the peacekeeper on the other side responded- though not how he wanted her too.

"The windows here are very pretty, aren't they? Stained glass."

"What? E-Elizabeth, come ou-"

" _ANSWER THE QUESTION, MARIUS._ "

Commander Marius Gaius Flavius, Lord Commander of the Rose Legion, put his head in his hands.

"...Yes. They're very pretty."

"Good! Good. Show yourself what's on the other side of them, won't you?"

Marius throws his head back and groans, pounding on the door once more.

"I'm not throwing myself out a window, Elizabeth! OPEN. THIS. DOOR!"

"No!"

"Elizabeth! Quit being a child!"

"When you quit being a TRAITOR!"

"Elizabeth! What was I to do?! Tell me that! I was called! I must answer!"

"Ha,  _called! Called_  to be Apollyon's lapdog!  _Called_  to be the hands of her _ghost!_ "

"Called to DEFEND MY PEOPLE!"

"FROM A WAR  _WE_  STARTED! What is it with Lawbringers and working for  _killers?_ "

With a roar, Marius kicks the door open.

"HOLDEN CROSS NEARLY  _KILLED ME!_ "

Storming up to him, the veteran Peacekeeper hisses in his face.

"And yet he lives!"

"TO  _ATONE_. He returned to the Iron in the end!"

"To keep doing what he's always done! Warmonger! Just like you!"

"We fight for peace!"

"DON'T YOU DARE!"

And a dagger was at his throat.

" **Don't you DARE say that."**

He presses into the blade, calling her bluff.

"What were we to do? Let the Chosen murder us?! Let the Warborn make trinkets from our corpses?!"

"FIGHT THEM BACK! AND NOT  _ONE_  STEP FURTHER _._  And what of the Myre?! They were our allies! Same as back then!"

"THAT WASN'T. MY. CALL!"

"And yet you followed! Blindly! Do you not remember why yours is the ROSE legion?! Why you have that fancy little halberd your  _precious_  Grand Master awarded you? Do you not remember Rosa Collis?!"

"I protect people!"

"By killing them?!"

"Did you want me to desert, Elizabeth?! Is that it?! To tear off my standards and run?!"

"I wanted you to speak out! To say something sane! To talk of peace! To say it was possible!"

"Maybe it isn't, Elizabeth! Maybe that was just a fluke! An alliance of convenience!"

"An 'alliance of convenience'?! Us laughing around the fire, drinking and smiling together?!  _Are you mad?!_ "

" _I didn't have a choice!_ "

She slammed the dagger previously at Marius' throat into the desk behind her.

_"OF COURSE YOU DID!"_

She storms past him, the small woman shoving him with her shoulder hard enough to send him staggering to the side, despite his colossal bulk. He trips over a stack of candles and stumbles right into her discarded chair, helpless to stop her exit. All he could do was scream after her in a frothing rage.

" **DAMN YOU, ELIZABETH!** "

Head slumping down, he lets out a ragged sigh...

Only to see an open book, knocked from her desk by the impact.

* * *

A tremendous thump. Then, faintly, from the floor above;

_"DAMN YOU, ELIZABETH!"_

Annabelle Dupris looks down at her pink cloth faulds, the standards of the Rose Legion, and sighs in disappointment. Garth Brickender, meanwhile, held his flail by the head, picking something out of his teeth with one of it's many spikes.

" 'Ow d'ye think it went? Odd there's a bar in 'ere, innit? I ain' complainin'."

"I suppose even peacekeepers have to drown their woes _sometimes_ , Sir Garth..."

She puts her head on the counter.

"They're comfortable after a while, innit they?"

_"They didn't even talk for two minutes."_

"I didn't count one, missy."

_"I was giving them the benefit of the doubt."_

"Kinda feels like mommy and daddy don't love each other no more, huh? Whi's odd, cuz I'm older than him, doncha think?"

She balls her hands up, gritting her teeth. She could feel moisture on her eyes.

"D-damn it... What happened?  _Fuck!_ "

"That mean dead  _bitch_  played us, is what happened. ...Wanna drink?"

She was silent for a while. But only a short while.

"...Yeah..."

He slams the countertop.

"Oi, barkeep!"

"We... we used to be friends."

"Yup."

"I-it all seemed so bright for a while. Like we were gonna beat her. Like we were heroes, come to slay the villain."

"Yup."

"But... but she...  _shit!_ "

Unable to keep them in, the Warden breaks down, forced tears ripped from unwilling eyes.

"Make it somethin' strong!"

* * *

Nervously, the aide greeted his stormy-eyed mistress. Ah, piss.

"Hello mil _LLAADAHHHH!_ "

She hammered a dagger through his sleeve, pinning him to the wall, and put another to his throat.

" _You should have told him I was dead._ "

"Well, I said you  _probably were!_  That counts for something, _riiIIIIGGHHH!_ "

The dagger at his neck was hammered into the wall to the side of his head, mere inches from his eye.

"Tell him I threw myself from this balcony. Really play it up."

"Yes ma'am!"

* * *

"Guh! How do you drink this swill?!"

"You'll see in a minute, girlie!"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I  ** _mean_**  it shall soon be clear. Keep some faith, don' ye?"

"I'm short on faith nowadays, Sir Garth..."

_"Ain' we all?!"_

* * *

"My master! My light! My love forbidden!"

Marius marches grimly for the aide. Dropping to his knees, he grovels towards him, blubbering.

"My flower! She cast herself from th-"

Marius knees him in the face. Picking up the unfortunate squire by his neck, he leans him over the balcony's railing.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

"Sh-she... she has took _flight_  from this mortal coi-"

Marius pushes him over, only to catch him by the ankle as he goes over the edge.

_"WHERE?!"_

* * *

_"Fuck. Apollyon... Why? What's so fun about killing people anyhow, huh..."_

Oh no. 'Something strong' indeed. Her forehead was pressed to the rough wood. She was, for lack of a better word, sniveling. Helpfully, the Conqueror throws some fuel on the fire.

"Bitch."

_"BITCH! FUCKIN' BITCH!"_

So, the warden couldn't handle her drink. Good to know, the Conqueror notes. He guesses, anyway.

* * *

"YOU CAN'T RUN FROM THE LAW!"

The peacekeeper strides purposefully through the great library, other Sisters scattering at the sight of the two of them. Without looking over her shoulder, she sneers back.

"How long did that take you to come up with?! Bet smoke was coming from your ears by the end of it!"

"Don't walk away from me!"

"Walk?! This is a purposeful stride, thank you!"

"You don't even want to hear what I have to say, do you?!"

"HENCE THE PURPOSEFUL STRIDE!"

"Well,  _fuck you!_  You don't even know what you're turning down! You're content to lie here and read  _stories_  until you get fed up with it all, lay down, and  ** _DIE!_** "

"Stories?!"

She whirls around to find Marius holding up a small booklet. She recognized it. Until she had been so rudely interrupted, she had been studying it.

"Fairy stories! Dusty scraps of paper!"

"HISTORY!"

She tears it from his grip, holding it close like a child.

"It's history!"

"And so what? This is the past, the lives of the long dead! People are dying here,  _today!_  By the thousands!"

"And so you want me to come and kill some more in some insane, ass-backwards attempt at making a right with two wrongs?!"

" _NO!_ "

"THEN WHAT IS IT?!"

"I WANT YOU TO HELP ME  _SAVE_  SOMEONE!"

Hyperventilating and throat raw, Marius pants for some time, reigning in his anger.

"...You even get to use that big damn brain of yours."

* * *

She was weeping now, absolutely gutted, face pressed to the wood. The barkeep raises an eyebrow worryingly. Garth just gave a thumbs up and nodded.

"Another."

_"...Um, no?"_

"Naw, for me!"

* * *

"To the south, people have been disappearing. Peasants. Children. It was thought wolves were to blame, but the numbers were too great. Ashfeld serves as a buffer between the heartland and the war front. It was not a raid. At least, by any enemy that we know."

The two had calmed down. Somewhat. Sat across from each other at one of the library's many tables, they swallowed their enmity and got down to business.

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that it's not samurai or viking, but some other organized force. When we sent companies south into the Skyrakers, they didn't return. The scouts we sent to investigate reported signs of battle."

"The Skyraker mountains? Those were made by the Cataclysm."

"Yes. The Legion's never tried to find a way through. No one who's tried to cross them returned. But... we think someone might have come from the other side."

"And how do you think I'll help?"

"How do you think? You're smart and can kill people. We need someone who can do both. Besides, the peacekeepers and their records might be able to tell us who were dealing with."

"Hmm. Well, we know that civilizations existed to the south, certainly. The Skyrakers were once a great inland sea. The pre-cataclysm societies called it the  _Mare Nostrum_. But a way through? Air becomes thinner the higher you go."

"Thinner? What do you mean?"

"I  _mean_ that above a certain height you can't  _breathe_ , pillock."

He rises from his seat, mouth opening, but after a moment, manages to calm himself, and sits back down.

_"...Go on."_

She raises an eyebrow at him, but does so.

"...So no, we can't go over. You can't go around, it's too long."

"Through? What about a tunnel?"

"No. It'd be the greatest architectural feat of all time. I doubt they'd go all that way for some measly peons."

"So, do you think they live in the foothills?"

"No! I don't know what I think! W-what about bandits?"

"Too well organized, and too few clues. They took even the bodies. All we found of them was blood and wreckage."

"What are they, ghosts?"

"That's the best you've got? Ghosts?"

"NO! I'm saying I don't  _know,_ Marius! Give me some time to go through my books, use that 'big damn brain'! Take me to the scene, so I can investigate it myself! The monkeys you call scouts probably trampled it all, but I'll see what I can salvage!"

"Fine then! Get your damn books! We leave. Tomorrow!"

_"FINE!"_

**_"FINE!"_ **

He turns to one of the bookkeepers wandering the rows and points at a nearby table.

"Who funds the furnishings of this place?!"

"W-what? Dont hurt me!"

"WHO?"

"The Sister of Gildings! But most of these pieces are over a century old, so-"

With one meteoric fist, he smashes the nearest table clean in two. Then he tosses the sniveling girl a coinpurse.

"Here's the replacement fee. I needed to hit something."

Elizabeth mockingly shouts after him as he storms out of the room.

"Of course! Smash all you want!  _Brute!_ "

Then, she waits until she's certain he's gone, tosses the bookkeeper a few coins, and starts stabbing the table she was seated at, grumbling angrily.

* * *

"We're heading ou-"

Marius freezes. Before him, Warden Annabelle Dupris and Garth Brickender sat. Annabelle was, well, out for the count. Garth was chuckling jubilantly. The barkeep was stammering panickedly.

"I-i-i tried to-"

_"SHUT-"_

He freezes mid shout. Breathing in and out, he tries again.

"...It's... fine. Garth?"

"Oi. Got what ye wanted, boss?"

"For lack of a better term, yes. We move out come dawn, for the Skyrakers."

"Aw. Ye hear that, Ann?"

He pats the comatose girl on the back.

"Hell, she's gonna feel like  _death_ tomorrow."

* * *

Gradivus looks down at the widening pool of  _vitae_  at his feet. The men of these lands were strong, healthy. They will make fine fodder for his lord.

He looks to the yawning cavern at his back, carved from the mountainside by the world itself. Mars has forged the path. He needs but follow it. He needs but march.

"Ultor, to me. We return home. For now."


	2. Caravan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! Today, I bring you the second part of my latest story. A mystery awaits the Rose Legion in the Skyrakers; of course, the Commander and his old mentor need to get there without killing one another first. As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 2: Caravan**

* * *

Asteria stood before Mars Gradivus, high priest of the god of war, her armor- what little of it was afforded to a pit fighter- banged and ripped, wounds freshly plugged by dried blood. The sun pounded down, and, caught by the gilded  _Lorica_  of the warrior saint, seemed to make him glow before his subjects. Rising from his seat in the private booth, he throws his arms wide.

"A valorous display, Asteria of Afri! Mars the Father smiles upon you!"

She stays silent, even as the people roared. All the dark-skinned woman does is look to the sky, calmly accepting the praise lavished unto her by the bloodthirsty crowds. A lion, a hippo, and a half dozen slaves lay around her.

As he looked down, a smile came to his lips. More glorious a fighter this land has never known.

A match for her father.

A warrior without equal.

A champion.

A suitable offering for his lord.

* * *

"Auggghh! What did you feed me, poison?! My head!"

The warden sat, head in hand, groaning. They were in a rickety little carriage, heading south for the Skyrakers.

"Remind me never to drink anything you give me again!"

"Never drink anythin' I give ye again."

"Quit shouting!"

They hit a bump on the dirt path and she shouts as if shot.

"Dammit! I'm walking!"

"Y'sure ye can?"

"O-of course I can!"

She rises, immediately stumbles to her side as the wagon shifts into a pothole, and falls out.

"Hah!"

"SHUT UP!"

After a few seconds of struggling in the mud, someone offers her a hand.

"Got you."

Taking it blindly, she's pulled up to her feet by the woman.

"...Th-thank you kindly."

"Don't tell me Garth's converted you, my dear? It's the devil's drink, you know."

"What-!"

Her head snaps up! Elizabeth!

"M-milady! It's you!"

"It's me. Never expected to see  _you_  stumbling out the back of a cart with a hangover."

The warden chuckles nervously, suddenly feeling much younger.

"This is a one time thing, I swear.  _Never again,_  I tell you. And, well... A lot's changed."

"Yes. It has. Come, walk with me. It's a ways to the battleground yet."

* * *

Marius looks over his shoulder, eyes on the two women. Sighing and looking forwards once more, he strokes his colossal warhorse's flank affectionately.

"At least  _you're_  still on my team, Lamri."

The thing was an almost fantastically big slab of white muscle, cloaked in layers upon layers of silver-gilt barding and pink heraldry. He was convinced the lawbringer's warhorses had rhinos somewhere down the family tree, with how large and tough they were. Of course, they had to be to haul a Lawbringer in full plate up and down the frontier without going swaybacked. Lashed to her side was the equally impressive length of pink and red metal he brought to bear in battle, the Rose. The Grand Master of the Lawbringers had awarded it to him personally, along with his title of Legion Commander, for his role in the battle of Rosa Collis. Why he decided to make it, and in turn, his legion's standards, mostly  ** _pink_**  when roses are wholly  ** _red,_**  is beyond him.

Rosa Collis. That distant memory. The siege where, just for one night, Chosen and Legion fought as one.

The battle that started his career.

He can't help but think back to their... well, 'conversation' last night.

_'What was I to do?! Tell me that!'_

_'Do you not remember why yours is the ROSE legion?!'_

' _I didn't have a choice!_ '

 _'OF COURSE YOU DID!_ '

How dare she? She didn't have a damn clue what she was talking about. She was a peacekeeper. She walked around in the shadows slitting throats. What did she know about leading an army? _Talk sense?!_  The Myreites weren't  _talking._  He did all he could, ordered the retreat, but they blocked the way. He had no choice but to charge through. They were willing to kill them all. What did she want? For him to order his men to lay their swords down and die?

"Yer mumblin', boss."

"GAH!"

He almost falls off his horse. There Garth was, sitting just to his left, eyes level with his own courtesy of the cart he was riding on.

"Damn! Seeing you dredge yerself from the mud woulda been a fine spectacle!"

" _Ser Brickender..._ "

"Jokin'! Jokin'! I'm with ye, boss. You've always treated me an' the rest a' th'boys right. Even if you do blow yer top sometimes, it ain't ever at us. Y'hear?"

Readjusting himself on Lamri's back, he sighs deeply.

"...Thank you, soldier. It's just..."

"That sneaky bint told you yer th'devil?"

"Yes. Something to that effect."

"Hah! Ye'd never think from lookin' at her- or hearin', for that- but she's an idealist, down t'her blood. And she hated that skelly-faced metal bitch somethin' fierce. This wartorn shitshow, right outta the brain of that crazy fucker, doesn't sit right with her. She doesn't want to be a part of it. And seein' you, her darling apprentice, that lovable rascal, the idealistic farmboy from the frontier, darn his socks, shine his axe, and march up north t'kill some mudwalkers? When she looks at that, she remembers that this IS the real world, and that she ain't gonna wake up one day with the shudders and pissed sheets."

Marius looks down and sighs.

"I just wish things were the way they used to be."

He shoots a quick glance at his ex con friend.

"Excepting you, actually, I quite like how you've turned out. Less insane rambling."

"I know, righ'?! Turns out, the Myre root hooch I always used to make in the ole' still was  _mildly_ psychotropic. Poisonous, too! Had to be quit a' the stuff."

"Is... that so?"

* * *

"Ghosts? You think it's ghosts?"

"No! No! I don't think it's ghosts! That was hyperbole!"

The peacekeeper puts a hand to her mask.

"I'm just saying that whoever they are, the Iron Legion hasn't seen them before. Not in the whole of our history has a foreign army attacked from the south. Do you understand? The map just  _stops_ south of the Skyrakers."

"How terrifying! We have no idea what lies beyond!"

"Aside from historical record, no. And who knows what's changed south of the _Mare Nostrum_  in all those centuries?"

"If we have to fight from both sides..."

"Yes. The Legions have always relied on their safe southern border in warfare. The very survival of our civilization would be at stake. Even more than it already is, of course."

She spit that last sentence out. Anxiously, the warden slows her pace, glancing at the bitter peacekeeper.

"...Milady. You know he did what he did to keep us safe? And the rest of the Legion? We were his  _friends_. The most important things in the world to him."

"That's no excuse. Peace was possible. It  ** _was_** , and don't let  _anyone_  tell you otherwise. But we fucked it all up. And now? Everything's... changed. He's not the man I knew anymore. Colder. Where'd that idealistic young man who fought to save people go? And you... you're  _drinking!_ "

"You know, I  _am_ an adult, despite my youthful looks and upbeat personality, yes?"

"W-well... but-but that's... just not you! You shouldn't drink! It's unnatural! An-and Garth is... Well, he's doing a lot  _better_ , actually. What's up with that?"

"Ah, yes! Turns out, his attempt to make the roots of Myre trees into alcohol instead created a sort of  _'poisonous mescaline broth'_ , as the doctor said. Simple mistake on his part."

"...Ah."

* * *

"What  _is_ that book you keep on flipping through, anyway?"

Elizabeth looks up, startled. They had found a new wagon, away from the Legion Commander, to rest their feet.

"Oh, this? It's... history."

"History?"

"Yes.  _Big_  history."

The warden cranes her neck, trying to see the contents of the battered little notepad.

"I mean... It is quite little, actually."

"This is a journal. Written by a soldier named Publius. I don't know how it came into the Peacekeeper's possessions, or how we've looked over it. Perhaps it's small size obfuscated it's titanic import."

"W-what? You speak as if you've found the  _Sangreal_."

"I might as well have, dear. This... is the last record of the fall of the Empire."

"The Empire?! No one knows what happened to them!"

"Until now. We've always assumed that the Legions arose from the Empire's remnants- more from hubris than anything- but it seems we were almost correct."

"Almost?"

"Yes. You see, it was not a slave revolt or a war with the Chosen that destroyed the empire, but an ideological schism within the very highest echelons of the government itself. A  _civil war_. My good friend Publius fought for the rebels. He fought for Christiandom."

" _What?!_ "

"Yes. We have a multitude of records detailing the intricate beliefs of the Empire, centered around a pantheon of many gods. But it seems that this faith felt threatened by the rise of a new religion, or, rather, the resurgence of an old one. Christians were fed to animals, burned alive, or lashed to crosses. The brutal subjugation lasted for decades, until a rebel faction overthrew the Emperor and exiled the loyalists who practiced the  _cultos_  to lands unknown. The rebels assumedly began to drift apart and form differing factions of their own, eventually forgetting their origins- much of their historical record destroyed in the fighting, or 'tainted' by pagan belief- and grew to become the Legions we know today."

"Astonishing! I could never have imagined such a thing to occur, much less be forgotten by history!"

"Few care for it as much as you or I, dear. I've examined it thoroughly, and it seems to be genuine. If it's a forgery, its the most skillfully crafted specimen I've ever seen."

"Have you read all of it?!"

"Well, yes, several times over. Why?"

"May I borrow it?!"

"It's a war diary, not a novel. I doubt it will be as _rousing_  a read as you think."

" _Please?_ "

"I wasn't saying I wouldn't, you know..."

"Thank you very much, milady!"

Handing it to the eager Warden with a chuckle, the Peacekeeper turns to look out the back of the covered wagon. The sun was shining, birds sung happily through the trees. All was calm. For the first time in a long time, she had a smile on her face.

Almost seemed like old times.

* * *

"Why do you blokes get all the nice toys, anyway?! I'd like to get a crack at those damn bombs 'a yours!"

Laughing jubilantly, the Conqueror, his Commander, and several men at arms slammed their drinks back.

"Come on, Garth! You've already made yourself a eunuch with that flail of yours, so why go around asking to get your ass blown off, too?"

"Wot?! Do I sound like a soprano to you?"

"Come on! Give a borderline untrained conscript a mace on a string and tell him to swing it around? With all the knocks your boys've gone through, my  _mare's_  probably a bigger man than you are!  _ISN'T THAT RIGHT, LAMRI?!_ "

The horse, drinking from a small stream nearby, rears back and whinnies in response, sending the gathering of troops around the campfire into fits of uproarious and slightly drunken laughter.

"Well  _I_ ain't the one making all of us dress up in pink an' roses, aren't I?"

"And who's to say pink and roses isn't manly?! Name one  _feminine_  thing that's pink!"

"Flowers!"

"Only some of them!"

"And tell me one thing that's  _manly_  that's pink!"

"Raw meat!"

"An' what about roses, huh?!"

"You ever get a rose stalk stuck in your unmentionables, Garth? You won't think of them as dainty little flowers after that!"

And once again the gathering explodes. The two slam their tankards together vigourously, laughing with them.

"You ain't lost yer sense a humor, commander! I taught ya well!"

Knocking the decidedly non-poisonous ale back and calming down a bit, the Conqueror gesticulates vigourously at him with the other hand.

"Hey, who do you figure we're goin' up against at the Skyrakers, boss? The boys 'ave been asking me to bug ya 'bout it."

"I dunno, Garth. Elizabeth has her money on ghosts, though."

"Ghosts?!"

"But ghosts or no, I know one thing for certain!"

Gaze sweeping over the gathered soldiers, catching their attention, he grins wide.

"With men like yourselves, we'll KICK THEIR ASSES RIGHT BACK OVER THAT MOUNTAIN!  _HEAR HEAR!_ **"**

Raising his mug high, he  _roars._

**"TO THE IRON! TO THE ROSE! TO THE LEGION!"**

His men repeat the toast with similar vigor, cries of jubilation echoing through the woods. Laughing, Marius takes another swig, head momentarily inclined up, towards the clear night sky above. The stars twinkled up above, untarnished and wholly free of things like war, and grudges, and betrayal. And, he realized, in that moment, he felt free of them, too.

Almost seemed like old times.

* * *

Gradivus stood before his personal  _centuria_ , the hundred men assigned as his personal honor guard and task force, Gladius held high.

"My sons! For too long, our people have gone _unchallenged!_  Our claws grow  _dull_ , our skin _softens_ , our flesh becomes laden with  _fat!_  From the northlands of Olympus to the sunburned wastes of the south, we have conquered!"

He sweeps his other hand, clad in a heavy, gilded gauntlet with a  _caestus_ built into the knuckles, over the vast, yawning vista behind them.

"All that we see lies within our domain! But we are not yet without glory left to claim, for Mars has  _shown us the path!_  A new page in our history has been revealed to us! And whether you live as victors, or die with glory, the names scribed upon it  _shall be yours!_ "

The soldiers roared, groomed since birth as the newest blades of the Empire. They all had lived their whole lives waiting to die for so glorious a cause.

All, save one.

He shouted and clamored with the rest of them, but his eyes were cold, and hard.

"Even now, we prepare the  _hostia_ at Aquilus _._ The finest warriors of the  _gladiātōrēs_ are being brought to our temple there, and with their blood, we shall curry the favor of Mars!"

Yet more cheers.

 _'Yet more blood,'_ thought the dissenter in their midst.

"But the preparations are not yet complete. We need not merely the blood of our slaves, but the blood of our  _enemies!_  We march north, through Mar's Path, to find gifts for our  _god!_ "

Turning to face  _Olympus,_  Gradivus points his stout blade forward and roars. Before them, a yawning crack in the mountainside stands, disappearing into the clouds above, wide enough to lead an army through. A path, carved by his lord, for the newest conquest of the Empire.


	3. Caedo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! The prologue's over! In the frozen heights of the southern Mountains, the Rose Legion encounters a mysterious enemy. As always, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 3: Caedo**

* * *

Marius thinks to himself that he prefers Valkenheim to the skyrakers. At least Valkenheim was cold and  _flat_ , and you knew what was trying to kill you. The warhorses of the Lawbringers were bred to navigate every sort of terrain you might find, in ashfeld and beyond, but even Lamri was having trouble surmounting the great snowy slopes of the southern highlands. They had to abandon the wagons a short while ago, but thankfully, the battleground was not far off.

"Doesn't it seem odd?"

Jumping, knocked from his own thoughts by the voice, he looks down. Oh no.

Elizabeth.

"...What?"

"That whoever's causing trouble here would trudge through such a snow-blighted wasteland as this just to stab a few farmers. Why are they doing it?"

"I don't know."

"Ah. Perhaps they're xenophobic. They see a culture asides from their own, they're obliged to conquer it. Remind you of someone?"

"I feel I should note that I've trained Lamri to kick on command."

"Fine! Sorry..."

"That... was easy. No holier-than-thou philisophical tirade?"

"No..."

Silence.

"Can I... ride the horse?"

"No."

"There's space enough for two people Marius, I'm not asking you to get-"

"No."

"Come  _on_ , Marius, my legs are about to fall off with all this climbing!"

"Then drag yourself with your hands, wench."

"Why you-! You-! ...Gh!"

And a snowball hits the back of his helmet.

"Lamri! Kick! Kick!"

Lamri does not kick. She has not been trained to kick on command.

* * *

They had been marching for a long, long time. Three days, and all that time they had been in the dark, with only torchlight and the occasional lava flow to show the way.

But now? Far off in the distance, daylight.

The other side. The new world.

Mars Gradivus smiles.

* * *

At long last, the ground mercifully leveled out. Gasping in relief, Elizabeth lies face first in the flat, powdery snow.

"That's a good way to freeze to death, or at least get sick."

"If I do, it's your fault, you soulless case of metal!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

He looks away from the exhausted assassin, back ahead. In the distance, he can see a shattered pole, with a flag attached, frozen stiff and straight, as if locked in time, mid-gust of wind. A shield with three roses emblazoned upon it lay on a field of pink. The standards of the Rose Legion.

"We're here. See what you can find while we set up camp. I want a report by nightfall."

Stepping down from his steed, he walks past the Peacekeeper wordlessly. Approaching his horse, the Peacekeeper whispers harshly.

"Your owner's a rat bastard, horse."

Lamri whinnies, oblivious.

* * *

"So, what have you found, milady?"

"What? Oh, nothing, so far. Everything's been buried by the snow. Assuming there was anything to find in the first place."

The peacekeeper sighs in frustration, leaning away from the little dig she had started, around the frozen remnants of a tent, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Bring that torch closer, would you? This cloak only does so much."

The warden crouches beside her, holding the flame close. Shaking her head, the half-frozen woman speaks, frustration evident.

"Marius was right; no bodies, ours or theirs. At least, so far. I've found patches of blood here and there, but that hardly tells us anything."

"Well, what about the cultures of the south? Anything in your studies about a society that takes the corpses of their enemies?"

"No. Whoever did this, their society has changed since the cataclysm."

"Changed?"

"Cultures aren't set in stone, my dear. Just look at Publius' journal. We've changed very much since the fall of the Empire, haven't we? And even before that, the Empire was radically different from the pre-cataclysm society of the region, which resembled ours, instead taking on the image of an even older civilization that pre-dated that one."

The Warden nods in understanding.

"So, like a game of leap frog? Empire, Legion, Empire, Legion?"

"More or less. We aren't the only one's who've changed. The warriors of Valkenheim weren't always so fanatically devoted to their gods. They wore armor, like we did, but now their 'Raiders' rely on the favor of Odin as their only defense. And the Chosen wore metal armor before arriving to the Mire. The lack of meaningfully large metal deposits and abundance of strong trees forced them into making their armor out of wood instead. The Cataclysm changed everything, for everyone."

"...Where do you think we'd be, if it hadn't happened?"

"I can't even begin to imagine. It's been....well, _centuries_ since then. A civilization rose from nothing and fell to the same since then, with enough time left over for us to forget about it."

Sighing, she leans back, away from the slowly widening hole in the snow, and sits down.

-And promptly jumps back up with a shout.

"Good god!"

"What is it!?"

Whirling around, the peacekeeper starts digging at the snow.

"Something stabbed me!"

Fishing the offending point from the snow, she holds the mysterious object in her hands. A dagger, coated in frozen blood, with a handle made of antler seared black, and a wide, thick blade. She knew what this was.

It was a bloody pugio, a type of ancient fighting knife.

A type of ancient fighting knife that was used by the Empire.

But this? This was newly made. The blade was made of steel, not plain iron or bronze. As if in reply to her confusion, far off in the distance, a horn sounded.

Nervously, the Warden draws her sword.

"Did you hear that? What do you think it is?"

Following suit, the Peacekeeper unsheathes her twin blades.

"Knowing our luck, trouble."

* * *

_"Futuo!"_

Putting the horn to his lips, the lightly armored scout blows as hard as he can, sending the tone echoing through the mountains. His hiding place exposed, he attempts to flee-

-Only for a metal gauntlet to pin him to the tree trunk he had been crouched behind.

"WHO ARE YOU?"

Marius wrapped his hands around the strange soldiers throat. He was cloaked in a suit of iron scales, and at one hip lay a sword curved outwards, and at the other was a short, but wide-bladed dagger. He had never seen anything like it.

But that didn't matter right now.

"WHERE ARE MY MEN?!"

_"Peri, catamitus!"_

Unsheathing the shorter blade, he attempts to plunge it into the metalclad man, but he simply rips the blade from his hands with one of his own. Headbutting him with his helmet, the scout collapses to his knees- the perfect height for Marius to drive his own armored knee into his face. Hauling him to his feet by his hair, the Lawbringer pins him back against the tree. Now in Latin, Marius roars.

"WRONG ANSWER! WHERE?!"

Spitting in his face, the beaten scout laughs defiantly.

"I know your tongue, dog! Do not sully Mars' own with your foul breath!"

"Mars?"

That moment of confusion, both from the realization that their enemies spoke the same tongue as they and from this talk of someone named Mars, was what the scout was looking for. Bracing his back against the tree, he pushes the Lawbringer away with his legs and draws his falcatta.

Taking his halberd in both hands, he levels it at the soldier as he charges. Deflecting the scout's stab with the shaft of his weapon, the blade lodges itself in the tree behind him, and, winding the axe back, he cleaves the mysterious assailants head from his shoulders. Wordlessly, he pulls the falcatta from the tree and puts it through his belt. Maybe Elizabeth could tell him where this sword was from.

But he had to hurry. The man at his feet had sounded the horn. Who knew what kind of reinforcements it would bring?

He whistled for Lamri.

* * *

Gradivus honed his gladius with slow strokes, wearing away the scratches and scrapes of previous battles. He and his camp stood at the mouth of Mars' Path, the colossal rift in the mountainside that linked Empire and Legion. The scouts had been deployed, tasked with combing the lowlands to the south for prospective sacrifices.

As it were, they didn't have to travel far. A horn, sounded, far below. The camp became charged with an unidentifiable energy, soldiers dropping their tasks, looking to their master. Awaiting orders.

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword, donning the bearded mask of Creta, the sign of his office.

And then, he marched, centuria following behind.

* * *

Garth kept his eyes forward, head tucked behind his shield, men at arms to his sides. That had been a signal horn, some minutes ago. And the pattern it blew was no order he recognized. He and the less experienced soldiers under his supervision were beating a careful retreat back to the battlegrounds, shields raised and ready for ambush.

He heard crunching snow behind him. Whirling around, flail spinning over his head, he prepared to strike-

Only to see Elizabeth and her Warden companion.

"Christ! It's you! Don' ye ever announce yerself?!"

The Peacekeeper claps him on the shoulders.

"Garth, I think I have a theory as to who we're up against, but it's a wild one."

"Wot?"

Stepping past him, she looks around.

"Garth, where's Marius?"

"He went west on that big bear-horse a' his! We split up so we could cover more ground!"

"Are you kidding me? Since when has 'splitting up' ever been a good idea?!"

"Wait a minute! What's this 'theory' a' yours?!"

She looks like she's about to respond, but someone interrupted her. A deep, calm voice, like distant thunder.

"You... speak the Lingua Plebis?"

The party, distracted by one another, whirls to face the unknown voice.

Before them stood perhaps the largest man Elizabeth had ever seen. The towering figure would put even the Raiders of Valkenheim to shame, and this one was wearing armor. More specifically, a muscle cuirass, a fitted breastplate hammered into the shape of a well-defined torso, black iron accented with gold. A helmet, styled into the image of a bearded man's face, concealed his true visage. At his hip was a short, stout blade, designed for thrusting attacks.

A gladius. Signature weapon of the old Empire.

Anna levels her sword at the mysterious soldier.

"Who are you?!"

Elizabeth steps forward, past the rest, placing herself between the masked man and the rest of her party.

"I know who you are."

She thinks back to Publius' Journal. After they won, the rebels didn't execute the loyalists. Just sent them away.

"You're the Empire. After the civil war, the surviving loyalists were exiled. It's been centuries... but you've returned."

The centurion is silent for a moment, no visible reaction to her words. But when he does speak, the words surprise her.

"Return...? Exile? This is not our home."

The peacekeeper was confused. So this wasn't an attempt at reclaiming their homeland?

"Wait, you don't-"

He steps forward, and the peacekeeper readies her blades.

"Enough talk. What you think we are does not matter. This is all you need to know."

He unsheathes his gladius, a shaft of black metal like a piece of midnight.

"I am Mars Gradivus."

He points the sword at her, razor tip leveled at her heart.

"And I am your opponent."

He was fast. Faster than any man his size ought to be. In an instant, he was upon her.

"Milady!"

Stopping the black blade, just barely, with her own sword, she staggers back under his strength, the sheer force of his downwards stab alone threatening to send her to the ground. Releasing one hand from his iron fisted grip on the sword's hilt, he smashes it into her iron face mask. The thick metal gauntlet gave his fist the crushing power of a mace, sending her flying back, unconscious.

The two men at arms charge, swords raised. Blocking one blade with his sword and the other with the heavy metal gauntlet on his other arm, he kicks one away and backhands the other. Raising the sword for another strike, the one closest lunges forward. Catching the blade with his armor-clad hand, he brings the pommel of his gladius into the flat of the sword, snapping the cheap blade clean in two. Flipping both his Gladius and the latter half of the soldier's sword into a reverse grip, he hooks the shield of the disarmed knight with his blade and pulls it aside, giving him the opening he needed to slam the other half of the knight's own into his neck. Leaving the broken sword in his slain opponent, Gradivus pounces on the other. The man-at-arms raises his shield, but, putting all of his strength behind his blade, the Aspect of Mars simply hammers it right through, nailing the soldier's own shield to his chest like a plank of wood.

"Ye rat son of a bitch!"

With a cry of fury, Garth whirls his flail above his head, building up momentum. Swinging it in a crushing overhead arc, he strikes at the centurion. Blade still lodged in the soldier, Gradivus is forced backwards, abandoning his weapon. Unphased, he puts his armored, cestus-clad fists up at the ready. Deflecting a strike from the whirling flail with one gauntlet, he pulls his shield aside with the other and drives his knee into the Conqueror's gut. Bringing one fist back, he prepares to strike- only to be tackled by the Warden, sending him staggering back.

Breathing heavily, Garth keeps his shield up. Anna readies herself for more.

But it doesn't come.

"...Unfortunate. I should hope the rest of you provide better fare."

He cracks his neck, and then his knuckles. Stretching, he sighs.

"Mars would hardly gain from the blood of barbarians so bereft of skill. But it shall have to do. The hostia must be completed."

He points at the Warden.

"You. At least you landed a blow, if not with your weapon. Perhaps you'll perform more aptly outside of an ambush? The arena may suit you better..."

"Do you think you'll take us, fiend?! You are without weapons! Surrender!"

Looking around, Gradivus opens his arms wide.

"Oh? Am I? It seems my voice serves me better than my fists."

"Wha-?"

Someone kicks her in the back of the knees. Dropping to the ground, her assailant puts a dagger- the same kind of dagger lady Elizabeth found- to her neck.

"Excellent work, Ultor."

A lightly armored soldier, cloaked in gilded scales, held the blade to her neck. At his hip was an ornate falcatta, and the sheath of the dagger he now wielded.

"Only with so fine a distraction was it possible, my lord."

"Let her go, ye bastards!"

He raises his flail, but Ultor only presses the blade further into her neck. Gradivus strides forward, ripping his sword from the dead legionnaire.

"You will live yet, as prisoners. The hostia will not be complete without you. But we can afford to sacrifice one of you here and now. Be still... slave."

Gradivus, now just behind Garth, who was still turned to his captured companion, wraps an arm around the Conqueror's neck, muscles flexing to cut off the flow of blood to his brain. The veteran conscript struuggled,but against the giant's strength, it was in vain. Letting him drop after several seconds in the sleeper hold, unconscious, Gradivus removes Anna's helmet, and nods. Unsheathing his other blade, Mars Ultor brings the horse-shaped butt of the falcatta down onto her bare scalp, and the world goes black.

* * *

Gradivus sat in his tent, some hours later. The company had been divided into small squadrons, to better comb the frozen woods. They had never expected to find an organized fighting force, it seems. The carts were loaded, the prisoners shackled, the bodies burned and bones ground.

But something troubled him.

He had seen the prisoners march by. He had sifted through the bodies. The ridge of horsehair atop his galea marked him as the leader of his centuria. Most enemies he had faced had similar embellishments- armor adorned with certain colors or baubles such as feathers. But none of the prisoner's -nor the corpses- bore any emblem of their position.

So, the question remains; Where was their leader?

Gradivus would find his answer soon, as a scream erupted from outside.

* * *

He swung his halberd in a wide arc from atop his armored warhorse, sending the nearest invader flying into the silken outer walls of a purple tent. He slumped down against the partition, staining the fine cloth red with his life's blood.

"I AM MARIUS GAIUS FLAVIUS, LORD COMMANDER OF THE ROSE LEGION! LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS AND SURRENDER MY MEN TO ME, OR DECLARE YOUR LIFE FORFEIT!"

The effect was not dissimilar to kicking an anthill. Night falling, and the Imperial forces, not expecting a lone madman in full platemail to charge into the middle of their camp and strike a man down, scrambled for their weapons, shouting curses in Latin.

All save one. One man, armor ornamented and gilt in precious metals, stepped out from his tent -the purple one Marius had just now sullied- and drew his Gladius. He bore a comb of horsehair atop his helmet.

" _YOU!_  Do you lead this band?! I demand that you explain yourself!"

"...Your are most brave, to walk without allies into the lion's den! Such valour!"

Throwing his arms wide, he laughed, looking to the sky.

"Surely, such an offering would sate you, my lord!"

"I care not for your meaningless words!  _Give me my men!_ "

Readying himself, he stares down the armorclad man and his colossal steed.

"If you so desire the liberation of your fellows, then I bid you, fight to claim them!"

Raising his Gladius, he bellows his orders.

"Take him breathing, my sons!"

Digging his heels into Lamri's sides, the horse breaks into a gallop, Marius' poleaxe leveled like a lance. The Imperials, regaining their wits, charged in turn.


	4. Crusade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! The party is divided, and each of them must now forge their own path, through a new land. First up is our own Lord Commander, hot on the trail of the abductees from beyond the skyrakers.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy...

 

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 4: Crusade**

* * *

Marius was in quite a lot of pain. How many times had he awoken from some trauma induced slumber to such a sensation?

Far too many times, he decided.

His leg felt strange. Was it broken?

No. Just tangled in something. His senses were returning to him. His body half rested on the cold, wet ground and half hung by one foot.

He opened his eyes.

"... _lamri..._ "

The warhorse towered above him, drinking from a stream. His foot was caught in one stirrup.

" _...Lamri...Sit!_ "

Crying out weakly, he manages to catch Lamri's ear. Laying down, she gives him the slack he needs to disengage his metalclad foot from the troublesome strap.

He looks around. they were in a small clearing, with a stream of snowmelt running through it. Behind him was a gouge in the underbrush, where something large had crashed through. Lamri, with his senseless form lashed behind, no doubt. Thankfully, his armor seems to have protected him from the worst of the dragging. But, as he shifted one shoulder, he found it had not preserved him entirely from harm, as a white-hot lance of pain shot through it.

Gasping, he looked to his left. Through one shoulderplate was a spear with a wooden shaft and a long iron head. A  _pilum_ , though Marius would have no way of knowing it's name. It hurt, badly. Had his shoulder been ran through?

His medical knowledge came to him as he analyzed the lodged weapon. He didn't feel any blood on his person, nor a foreign object within his flesh. The spear had merely pierced his armor, not his skin. Carefully removing the weapon from his pauldron, his prognosis proved true. It was clean of blood, and the pyramidal tip lacked a point. His armor must have blunted the tip before it reached his gambeson. The spear still had it's weight, however; his shoulder must have been knocked from the joint by the impact. A simple dislocation. Easily, if not pleasantly, fixed. But he had to get his armor off, first. He dragged himself up against a nearby tree, and set to work.

He realized, as he began the slow, agonizing task of removing a plate cuirass unassisted with one arm, that he doesn't even remember why he's like this. What in the hell happened?

Looking at the spear, discarded in the snow at his side, he began to remember. That woman...

* * *

_"Take him breathing, my sons!"_

_The Imperials charged at the word of their master, and Marius charged in turn._

_Lamri, cloaked in layer upon layer of silver-gilt steel plates, merely bowled through the hastily made first line, front legs kicking and trampling all in front of her. Swinging his halberd at her flanks, Marius struck down those at their sides._

_Turning on a dime as they passed the collection of soldiers, he bid her run once more, halberd tucked under one arm, spearpoint leveled at their leader._

_"This ferocity! Surely, to send so fine a warrior into our hands is a good omen!"_

_Gradivus squared himself, ready for the lance. Holding still as a statue, he imagined he was fighting the bull of Crete, as Hercules once did. He would dive to the side, and wrench the silvery warrior down from his perch by his strange axe-spear's shaft. On galloping hooves, his enemy came steadily closer..._

_But the blow never came._

_With a clang of metal on metal and a cry of agony, the commander fell from his mount, a pilum in his shoulder. Crashing to the ground, his head came down upon a rock, and his body went still as his panicked steed dragged him away by one leg. He contemplated sending men after it, but it would be for naught. Landing on his scalp like that, he can't imagine he survived. Turning around, he lays eyes on the one responsible. The one he had expected to see. The third of his fellow aspects, and the least deserving of the title._

_"Mars Quirinus. Fond of cutting the knot, as always."_

_Little of her olive skin was visible under her armor, a full body suit of lorica segmentata, but she bore no helmet, allowing him to see the distaste in her eyes with the greatest of ease. Though born under the Empire's rule, she was one of the conquered peoples, hailing originally from Misr. She had always been trouble._

_"We have no time for your games, Gradivus. We have what you need for the tournament. Let us return."_

_"Tournament? No. Not a tournament. A ritual. The hostia. We will weed out the strongest among them, and offer the last up to Mars. In so doing, we will curry his favor for the coming campaign. I know you are not a believer, but can you at least do what I ask of you?"_

_"I do. The hostia will not be stopped for the lack of one man."_

_"True. But Mars frowns today. This displeases me. Remember that, Quirinus."_

_Without another word, he turns heel and walks away. The third aspect doesn't need to turn her head to feel Ultor, the ever-loyal lapdog, burning his gaze into her._

* * *

He was struck down. By a dark skinned woman. And just before he had the chance to take their leader down, too. Damn.

Tossing his breastplate to the side with a clatter, he prepares to reset his shoulder.

The first step was to relax. Tense muscles made reducing the joint all but impossible. Breathing deeply, in and out, he looked to Lamri. She seemed to pity him.

"...At least you don't have to  _kill me_  when  _my_  limbs fail me."

Lamri stares on. Obliviously.

Alright. Step two. He eased himself down, until he was lying on his back. Then, he reached his dislocated arm- slowly, very slowly, stopping whenever the pain flares- to his side, then above his head.

Step three. He reached his hand, once again very slowly, behind his head, till his palm was hovering over the back of his neck. He took another deep breath, being sure to remain calm.

Step four. He steadily stretched his hand for the opposite shoulder, the undamaged shoulder, until...

...It was not an audible pop, nor a sickly crack. In truth, it wasn't much of anything at all. Just a sudden shifting within himself. But the pain was gone. His arm was fixed. Somewhat sore, mind you, but functional. Working his shoulder to check for a pinched vein or nerve, he found nothing unusual. Sighing deeply, he looked to his steed.

"And that, dear Lamri, is how it's done. A shame it'll never apply to you."

He attempts to stand- only, doing it perhaps a bit to suddenly, he stumbles, only barely catching himself against the tree. Dammit. Of course. He must have landed head first after he fell. A concussion. The only real way to 'treat' a concussion was rest. But he couldn't afford to rest. His people needed him.

He looked around. Needless to say, his halberd, the Rose, was gone, dropped in his impromptu flight from the camp. But he still had the  _falcatta_  through his belt.

Redonning his armor, he mounted his steed.

* * *

Just how long had he been out? Night was falling. Had it been mere hours, or a day? It was impossible to tell.

He had discarded his armor in a bush as he approached the camp. Too loud. He was no Peacekeeper, mind you, but Elizabeth had taught him the basics of moving quietly. He remembers Garth laughing. He was ' _big bloke in a metal casket'_ , when would he ever need to sneak around?

Well, there's a first time for everything. He stepped toe-first, rolling the rest of his foot to the ground behind it.

It seems that most of them were gone. Only a skeleton crew remained to keep the camp. The rest must have returned to wherever they came. But where would that be?

Creeping along the outskirts of the camp, he hears voices from the tent closest to him. Latin.

"A strange land, Mars has given us. Their warlords wear silver and pink?"

"Strange, yes. But ferocious. He slew seven men before Lady Quirinus struck him down."

"I know. That bastard Helvius owed me a dozen coppers."

"And what of this glaive? It is unalike anything I've seen yet."

"It's not too strange, is it? It is just a spear with an axe on the side."

"Or is it an axe with a spear on top?"

The Rose! They have it! He needs to get it back. He's better with a poleaxe than a sword, and he's grown used to her weight in his hands. On the other side of the tent, he hears rustling as a flap opens.

"It doesn't matter what it is, you asses, just get it cleaned. Mars Gradivus himself wants it for a trophy."

"Yes, my centurion!"

The two legionaries shut up and got to work. Damn. He didn't want to take them both on without his armor, but if he put it on, he'd surely alert their cohorts. What to do...?

* * *

Someone saw him. For someone his size, he was remarkably quiet. It's odd, how similar these southerners look to his own people. He had thought that blonde hair was a trait unique to the empire. This was the part where he, a loyal soldier of Mars, would raise the alarm and rouse his brothers for combat.

But he didn't.

Instead, he walked calmly for the tent the northerner seemed so intent on.

He was waiting for something. Why not give it to him?

* * *

Another voice came from the tent.

"Hey, you two!"

"Yes, centurion Alexander?"

"Come with me! I need some help sifting through the  _holocaustus_. You'll each get a third of what we find."

"B-but, sir, Julius ordered us to clean this trophy for Lord Gradivus..."

"Come on! It can wait! I hear these savages crown their teeth with gold. You want some of that, don't you?"

"G-gold?! But..."

"Come on, Nerius, we can hold of on the cleaning for a while, right?  _Gold!_ "

"...Fine. If our centurion gets mad, you'll tell him you ordered us to come, won't you?"

"Of course! Of course..."

The voices fade as the three soldiers go off to sit through some ashes.

That... was convenient.

Ah, to hell with it, he won't question luck. Cutting through the back of the tent, he steps inside.

There it is. An elegant shaft of red and pink, capped with a ruby carved in the shape of a rose, from which two pink and gold blades sprouted. In between the two blades, one larger than the other, was a long, slender spike.

The Rose. A master-crafted poleaxe, of the very finest make, gifted unto him by the Grandmaster of the order of the Lawbringers himself. A weapon that was, to him, without equal.

...And the reason he had to run around in  _pink_  all the time, but that hardly mattered. All that mattered was that it was back. Splattered in mud and Imperial blood, but in his hands once more.

Retreating back through the hole he made, halberd in hand, he made for his armor, and Lamri.

* * *

The dents were hammered, his standards rinsed of dirt. The Rose shined in the moonlight. His steed healthy and rested. He was still feeling the effects of his concussion, but he could fight through.

He had to.

* * *

The legionaries left stationed at the mouth of Mars' Path were tired. As the moon glowed softly above, they readied themselves for sleep. But they'd receive one more shock today.

The rattling of metal. The clopping of hooves. Someone was coming.

As the first of the soldiers stepped out into the night, they let out cries of surprise. The man in silver, the knight of roses, had returned, back from the dead. They were quiet, for a long time, cautious without Gradivus' inspiring presence.

The first to gather their bravery stepped forward, drew his Gladius, and shouted.

"Hold there! Surrender yourself to us, outsider! We have defeated you once already!"

Marius tugged on the reins, bidding Lamri to stop. In latin, he replies, voice calm and hard.

"In greater numbers, and with a lucky strike. Do you think you will again? Let me pass, and I will go without violence."

The Centurion laughs defiantly, restoring the spirits of his subordinates.

"You ask us to let you pass into the holy land, defile Mar's Path with the footfalls of a heretic, unchallenged?! To look away, sheath our swords, and act the coward?! We would rather die!"

He shouts back, sternly, showing no weakness. He wasn't sure if he could take them all, in the state he was in. If he could avoid this fight, he would.

"Would you?! Do not speak for your compeers! Why die today?!"

"Look at us! We stand before you, ready for war! You are but one man! We have the upper hand! The only one who will die today... _is you!_ "

He looks as if he is about to charge, and the initial wave of surprise had faded, his allies ready to fight with him. Marius tightens his grip on the Rose.

Then, a voice cries out. A voice he's heard once already tonight.

"Hold! Did you not see him fall?!"

A centurion in a gilded cuirass steps out from between two tents. The helmet he bore was unlike the rest; most had faceplates in the shape of a face, but his was smooth and featureless, save for four rows of holes cut in it to see through.

"His brain split on that rock! Quirinus' bolt struck true and killed him! And yet he walks before us!"

The other centurion turns to his fellow company leader, hissing angrily.

"Quit speaking nonsense, Alexander! How can a dead man stand in front of our eyes?!"

Ignoring the Decanus, he instead sweeps his gaze over the less experienced, more superstitious legionaries he commands.

"This is no man at all! He is a  _lemure_! You know it as well as I! A man who dies shamefully, without rites or honor, returns to ask recompense! Unkillable and everlasting!"

Marius stares on in utter confusion as the centurion orates to the frightened young men all around him.

"To try to stop it would be madness, an invitation upon ourselves and our families for the most vile of curses! All we can do is let it through, and pray we can find the corpse and offer it the holy rights it deserves before it reaches the homeland! Should he go north, and step beyond Mars' Path, he will surely come for our master! Were he to interrupt the ritual at Aquilus, all would be lost!"

His fellow centurion stammers for words, but finds none before Marius interrupts him. In a ghostly tone, voice muffled and deepened by the great bulk of his helmet, he moans.

_"My flesh has been lost to man's ken, along side my steeds. Look to the brightest star of the northern sky. Travel for it 'til dawn rises, and thou shalt find a shattered banner bearing my colors. Burn it, in my name, and I shall be appeased. I am Marius Gaius Flavius, knight of roses, and that is my decree... Now... **STEP ASIDE!"**_

Rearing back and whinnying ferociously, Lamri breaks into a gallop for the collection of terrified soldiers. With screamed prayers and howling curses, the group parts around him like the sea around a Viking prow, and he is home free. Sneaking a look back, he locks eyes with this man named 'Alexander'. One look says it all; he did not truly think him a ghost, or a  _lemure_ , or whatever in god's name he called it. That soldier knew as well as he that he was just a knight on a mission. Somehow, he had a friend in that strange man.

Mars' Path? Whatever it was, it was to the north.

Past it, he would find this place called Aquilus.

He would find the 'master' his mysterious ally, Alexander, spoke of.

He would find his people.


	5. Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! Today, we enter the colossal depths of the mysterious 'Mars' Path', alongside the recently indentured Warden and her Conqueror companion. As always, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 5: Capture**

* * *

"I appreciate the lack of a gag, at least."

"A gag? Wha' th'hell do they need a gag for? Not exactly like we can call for help, innit?"

"Why do you put 'innit' on the end of things? It's short for 'isn't it'!"

_"Tacēte, servī!"_

It had been a two days, here in the dark. Where were they? They traveled on a great expanse of what looked like shining black glass, and darkness pressed in on all sides. Not even the stars made an appearance. They must be underground, but there was no wall, nor ceiling, in sight. Grumbling, the soldier charged with guarding them looks over her shoulder, trying to glean something from the shadows in boredom, twirling the  _pilum_  in her hand idly. Leaning over to Garth, she whispers.

_"So, do we actually have a plan, or did you just say that to keep my hopes up?"_

_"Give yer mate some time, these bloody locks are bein' a bastard."_

_"It's been a_ day _, Garth."_

_"Well, a man's gotta sleep, y'know? Besides I've just..."_

Grunting quietly in frustration, he keeps on working the lock. He used to be the king of picking locks. Now look at him. Conscription does terrible things to a man's sense of subtlety and finesse.

_"...about...got..."_

Then, suddenly, his work was done. His hands were free of the manacles. The lock was open.

Open, with a VERY loud click. One the spear-wielding soldier sitting across from them was very familiar with, from how she whirled around so quickly, weapon at the ready. Shit.

Anna had to think of something. But her hands were bound. What was she to do?

As the  _praetorian_ rose to deal with the unshackled prisoner, something threw her off guard. The woman to his left suddenly started shaking, as if in a seizure. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and blood came from her mouth!

" **Vah?!** "

In that brief moment of confusion, Garth punched her right off the wagon. He had planned to wait for the opportune moment to escape from his bonds, but it seems that these southerners had been taking prisoners a long, long time. The noise made by the shackles -and the ensuing struggle it caused- had alerted the wagons in front and behind in the wagon train. He had to work quick. Hauling his still bound companion to her feet, he stares at the blood coming from her mouth.

"What in god's name was that?"

"I bit the inside of my cheeks! That and a bit of acting, and suddenly, I'm dying! A serviceable distraction, don't you think?"

Jumping down from the wagon, he fishes around for their unconscious guard's keys, and handed them up to her.

"Where'dya learn that from?!"

"Nowhere! I just thought  _'what would lady Elizabeth do'_ , and it came to me!"

He looks up and down the cavernous tunnel. Their escape had triggered chaos. As centurions rushed to capture them from the faraway wagons on either side, their captives took the opportunity to enact their own escapes. And, like fire down a line of oil, these escapes set the carriage's down the line panicking in turn. Yet another  _'serviceable distraction',_  as Garth and Anna sprinted for the darkness.

* * *

"We... probably should have stolen a lantern or a torch too, huh...?"

Utter, cloying black. They had escaped their pursuers, only to find themselves lost in the dark as well. Anna had believed this place to be a single tunnel, but as they fled, they had found that the central shaft which they had escaped from was simply the core of what seemed like a colossal web of caves.

As they felt their way through the cold shaft of black glass, Anna felt her senses beginning to return. An almost invisible glimmer reflecting of the smooth ground. Light was near.

"Y'know... now that we can relax a bit, I got t'ask...  _where'n the hell are we?"_

Rounding a corner, Anna can see light, reflecting off the black glass that formed every surface of these caverns. White light, not the dim glow of flame.

Daylight. They had entered a natural cistern, a gargantuan, spherical chamber with a great crack along the top, allowing light and snowmelt both into the cave, forming a sizable underground lake for the two ashfeldian knights to rest on the shores of. Still winded from her flight from the convoy, Anna all but panted out her reply to Garth's question.

"How... should I know?"

"Well, yer the one always listenin' t' Elizabeth's fancy prattle!"

Sitting down at the edge of the water, disturbing the myriad birds that had come to drink of the water and eat the strange, blind cave-fish that populated it, she caught her breath, and thought for a moment.

"Well... They came from the south. That means they had to find some way through the Skyrakers. This black material... It looks like obsidian."

"Wot now?"

"Obsidian. It's a kind of glass formed when lava cools quickly, it's what got the Blackstone's their name. The Skyrakers were made by the Cataclysm. When the land pushed itself up to form their slopes, it dredged molten rock up from the depths of the earth. A sea used to be here, so when the lava met the water, it must have cooled extremely quickly, forming all this obsidian. And when the boiling water became steam and tried to escape, it must have formed these tubes and bubbles as it rose and expanded through the lava. These caves... they must thread the whole mountain range."

"Well, if it's always been 'ere, then why are these face-wearin' blokes comin' through now?"

Cupping the cool, clean water of the cistern in her hands, she drinks deeply of the snowmelt, quenching her throat, parched by the hot, moistureless atmosphere of the volcanic caverns. Sighing, she responds.

"It's a common misconception that the Cataclysm is over, or that it was a single event with a beginning and end in the first place. The worst of it occurred all at once, to be sure, but even now, the banks of Ashfeld's rivers wind like serpents on the prowl, and the Myre of the samurai cannot be mapped for how much the ground roils and moves about. Maybe the earth shifts such that the entrance is only open periodically? Or maybe the snow simply buried the mouth until just recently. I cannot know for certain."

"It's a damn shame that th'mountain had t' crack itself open an' let all th'baddies out  _now_ , of all times. We're already gettin' whipped on all fronts up north."

Standing up, the Warden dusts off her standards.

"All the more reason to find our way out of this blasted pit. We need to get our friends back, and return home. We've both seen what ashfeldian powder charges can do. Reduce castle walls to nothing. Change the shape of cliff faces."

She looks to the sliver of sunlight high above, determination in her eyes.

"Maybe they can seal this place up once more."

* * *

Mars Quirinus had a headache. She hated headaches.

A nervous soldier stood before her. A  _praetorian_ , and a Misrian one at that, just like her.

"M-my lady, I tried to..."

She narrows her gaze. The praetorian cringes away from the sight.

"...The woman, she started bleeding at the mouth, as if struck by a southern plague, and I-I..."

"Panicked?"

"N-no! I was just surprised, i-is all..."

She looks to the ground, eyes wide with fear.

"You let two prisoners escape, and who knows how many we lost in the chaos that followed. Do you know what kind of omen this is for the campaign ahead?"

"M-my lady, please-!"

"If I was Mars Gradivus, you'd be in shackles, bound for the fighting pits 'til some other wretched slave gutted you for show."

Rising from her chair, she strides forward till she stood face to sniveling face with the woman.

"If I was Mars Ultor, you'd be flayed alive, salted, and nailed to the cliffside for the sun to bake."

Suddenly, she places a hand on her shoulder, and smiles softly, voice calmer.

"But I'm not Mars Gradivus, and I'm certainly not his bloodthirsty pet weasel. But I can't let you go unpunished. My fellow Aspects would have my head for it. Report to the  _lictor_  for a dozen lashes."

The hand on her fellow praetorian's shoulder goes now to her own chest, against her heart. She speaks now, softly, in Coptic, the language of their people.

_"Be brave, my sister."_

Staggered by the unexpected mercy, the lower ranking soldier repeats the gesture, and replies in their shared tongue.

_"Th-thank you, master."_

Without another word, the praetorian scurries from the tent, afraid that her good fortune would suddenly be pulled from underneath her.

-And stumbles right past Mars Ultor himself on the way out.

The waiting Aspect stares down the fleeing soldier wordlessly, then steps inside. He was a thin man, thinner than most in the Empire's army, but the _Salii_  preferred agility to raw strength, as evident by his light armor and twin blades. He was a wretched thing, a thin, almost skeletal face with two soulless blue eyes, topped with a chaotic mass of curling blonde hair atop his head.

Eyeing her suspiciously, he hissed, as a viper should.

"There was hope in that  _proscriptio's_ eyes. What sentence did you hand down, Quirinus?"

"A dozen lashes from a scourge. Her back'll run red."

Scowling, he steps forward angrily.

_"A dozen lashes?! For her idiocy, we lost some of the hostia's finest stock! All we are left now is the weak! The gimps and the cowards! Mars Gradivus will hear of this!"_

Rising from her seat once more, this time with her ornate  _pilum_  and  _scutum_  in hand, she stands fast against the cruel sycophant in front of her.

" _I don't care, Ultor._ Gradivus may have taught you otherwise, but the Aspects are equals. I can punish my soldiers as I wish. That is the  _emperors will,_ and his is the only one I will heed. Your master has not taken the throne yet, and while I breathe,  _he_   _never will._  Now get out of my sight, before I kill you."

"Y-you dare?!"

He lunges forward-

-only to be stopped by the point of her spear. She all but snarls, her face a rictus of righteous indignation.

"I do. As long as I breathe, I will fight for the emperor and his line. You mean to betray him, to stab him with knives while he sleeps, like _cowards_. This I know. And you should know that the instant you give me a reason -nay, an  _excuse_ \- I will put you down like the dogs I know you to be."

Staring hatefully into her dark brown eyes for a long time, the Aspect of the  _Salii_ suddenly backs away.

"You should be more measured with your words, Quirinus. Passion serves you poorly here."

"Passion is what brought me here. Passion for my people. Passion for our society. Passion for our prosperous future. It takes heart to stand on the front lines. Less so, to slit throats in the dark like some bedtime monster."

Without another word, Mars Ultor skulks out of her tent, surely to inform Gradivus of her words. She looks down at the goblet of wine at her side in thought, but decides against it. From here on, she'd be eating only the fruit off the trees, drinking only the water from the rivers. Harder to poison.

* * *

"Light! Blessed light!"

Far off in the distance, the mouth of a tunnel. No momentary glimpse, no cruel tease. Beyond was the far side. Beyond was the Empire.

"Heh! Would ye looka that?! How ye talked abou' it, I'd figure we'd be stuck down here 'till we starved!"

As they rushed to meet the sun's kind embrace, they both felt something odd. A chill breeze, cutting through the sweltering heat of the caves, and a sound like distant thunder.

And then Garth slipped and fell flat on his face.

"Oh my! Ser Brickender!"

"It's wet! Bloody wet glass! Goddammit, my nose!"

"... _Wet?"_

Reaching down, she removed one gauntlet and touched the bare skin to the obsidian floor. It was absolutely soaked, standing pools of water forming in the dips and depression of the tunnel. As she approached the exit from the underground, it soon became apparent why.

A waterfall. The tunnel exited out behind a waterfall. She couldn't see anything past the rushing water, including how far below the water's destination lay, or how deep said destination was already submerged.

"Of course! Of course it had to be a bloody waterfall! Fuck it, lets jump!"

"Are you crazy?! We don't know how far it goes down! Besides, we can't swim in this armor!"

"Well, what are we gonna do, huh, girlie? Go back down into that hellhole and pray we're somehow lucky enough t'find another way out?!"

"Let me think! For now, let's just be glad we have light to see by, yes?"

With a grumble, Garth concedes the point. After all, not even he was in a rush to jump down a waterfall.

Investigating, she looks to the side of the tunnel's mouth, seeing if there was a ledge or a lip to stand on. Alas, all she could see was an utterly vertical cliff face, bare, save for a small, sturdy little tree growing defiantly from the mountainside.

This gave her an idea. A poor one, but here they are.

"Garth? I'm going to take off my armor."

"Wot?! Yer a lady!"

"I've still got my gambeson on under it, you halfwit!"

"Yeesh, yer soundin' more like Lizzie each day!"

"Just listen to me, alright? There's a branch I could climb on, without all that weight, get a lay of the land. But I need your help."

"What for?"

Turning back to him, she begins unbuckling the straps and ties holding her cuirass on.

"I need you to keep me from falling while I reach across."

* * *

A minute or two later, the last of her half-plate had been discarded, and, one hand held firmly in Brickender's grip, she begins to reach across with the other, leaning over the divide for the sturdy little plant she had set eyes on.

Edging ever closer, until the very tips of her feet wavered on the uttermost edge of the cave mouth, her fingertips brushing the rough bark.

"Give me more, Garth, I've almost got it!"

"Alright, alri-"

Suddenly, a shout of surprise issued from the Conqueror bearing her weight for her, and in the work of a single moment, it was the other way around. Keeling over, she wraps one hand around the branch in the instant before gravity would have swept her off the mountainside, and the other hand goes from being held to very firmly holding the hands of her compatriot, who was now, courtesy of a troublesome patch of wet obsidian, dangling off the cliff alongside her, in a full set of very heavy chainmail.

"GARTH!"

**"SHITE!"**

_"Just hold on!"_

" _I can't! This armor's... too bloody-"_

**_CRACK._ **

With a calamitous snap, the trunk of the cliffside shrub snapped, sending Warden and Conqueror both into freefall.

* * *

_"Lord in heaven... Sir Brickender, are you alright...?"_

"GOD DAMN IT! Fuck this! Fuck all this to hell!"

_"Good... That's good."_

The two of them sheepishly dredged themselves from the river they had dropped about ten feet into.

"...Well, it  _COULD_  have been a 500-foot drop into a certain, watery grave, and the both of us know it. Better safe than sorry, y-yes...?"

"I'm not the one climbin' back up that wall to get yer armor back, alright?! Damn it all!"

"Come on! Ser Brickender!"

As the Conqueror angrily storms off down the riverbank, Anna mewls plaintively for forgiveness.

_"I'm sorry! GARRRRRTH!"_

* * *

Aquilus. His home. Not where the flesh of him was born, to be sure, but his title? His name? His very reason for living? It all started here. This is where he was named aspect of Mars, given the  _persona_  of Gradivus, given the sacred duty of leading the centurions, the most righteous and pure-hearted of all the Empire's soldiers, into battle.

His people have grown weak. The Emperor sits, stagnant like a filthy pond, content to play king over this tiny patch of earth. He would bring glory to his people once again, as Mars wills it. He would bring war to the world, make his people strong, as the young Lupa had always wanted.

Ultor approaches.

"My lord. The barbarian has been moved to your quarters. Chained. The elixir has proven effective. She sleeps, even now. Should I wake her?"

The Lupa. From mysterious origins she came, and without answers she left. When she arrived here, chains on her wrists, a great blade at her hip, and ice in her eyes, he realized that this world was so much bigger than he believed. That the Empire was not yet without glory to be won. And now, this woman came from beyond Olympus, speaking of exile and schisms. Of a past that had long been forgotten to his people. She wore a blade in the same style. Did they hail from the same land? Did the Lupa get her dream?

So many questions. And now, answers.

"Yes, Ultor."


	6. Consanguine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! Today, Elizabeth awakes within the great Fortress of Aquilus, and meets a tyrant in the making. As always, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! I'll be sure to keep your suggestions in mind going forward. It's your criticism that helps me improve my writing, and your encouragement that gives me the energy to keep doing so.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 6: Consanguine**

* * *

_"...-at of Typhon? The wound on his leg... has it healed?"_

_"Perfectly, sir, he shall be ready for the coming..."_

_"Good... he is a fine head for any charge..."_

_"...-eeps, even now. Shall I wake her...?"_

Voices faded in and out of her empty, floating mind. Elizabeth felt odd, as if submerged in some pleasant, familiar, and warm haze, like she had just finished making love with a cloud, or was quite drunk. Which was very strange, because she remembers neither such things occurring recently. She didn't drink, astonishingly enough, and the alternative was quite impossible. So, whatever her initial impression was, she seemed to be wrong. She wasn't sure how long she had been there,or how long the two voices had been speaking. It might not have been a single conversation, for that matter. It was hard... no, _impossible_  to think.

At some point, she felt shackles on her wrists. Suddenly, it dawned on her that something was terribly wrong. Only very faintly, though.

Something strong, hellishly strong, met her nose, and she jolted from her tranquilizer-induced stupor.

_"Guh!"_

"The _sal ammoniac_ seems to be a fine cure for the elixir's effects, sir. If we can mass-produce it, transporting sacrifices and slaves will be all the easier."

"Very well. The alchemists do good work today. Mars smiles on them. You may go, Ultor."

"Of course, my lord."

Without another word, the Aspect of the Salii leaves his chambers, leaving Mars Gradivus alone with the woman from beyond Olympus. Coughing, she half-heartedly pulls at the chains lashing her to the marble pillar in the center of the room, before letting out a shaky chuckle and weakly addressing her captor.

 _"You know... If you wanted to take my purity, I'm afraid you're_  long _overdue."_

Laughing softly, humorlessly, Gradivus hones the edge of his Gladius, on a balcony across the room from her own position, looking out over some vista unavailable to her limited field of movement.

"I have no desire in plumbing those depths, not to worry. The only thing I want from you is your knowledge."

" _...Oh? You fancy yourself an educated killer? I've seen too many of those for one lifetime."_

"If one desires to hunt, he must first track. You need to know your enemy before you defeat them."

Sparing the complex below one last look, he turns away from the balcony. Setting his black blade carefully on a nearby table, he sighs, reclining into an ornate chair.

"Though I will admit, I am curious about more than your tactics. You said we share the same origins. Brothers, opposed, as Romulus and Remus."

The peacekeeper's response was mocking, a vindictive smile on her face.

_"Look at you... I know more about your own history than you do! You're just a bunch of bloodthirsty thugs."_

Leaning back in the lavishly ornamented seat, Gradivus' voice remained calm.

"I know more than you think, barbarian. You seem interested in knowledge yourself. How about a trade?"

_"Oh? Your not going to just hold an iron to me 'til i squeal?"_

"I dislike torture. The spirit is a beautiful and tenacious thing. It is always a shame to see one broken. Like a lion rendered lame, or an eagle with wings clipped."

Leaning forward, he removes his helmet, revealing a face marred with dozens of scars, a head of graying black hair, and a singular green eye.

"No, I propose a little game. I ask you a question, and you ask me one in return. We can refuse to answer, if we like, but if we do, the other gets to ask once more."

" _Your not going to get much from me, I'm afraid."_

"You speak faintly, as if the elixir still holds you. Shall I retrieve the  _sal ammoniac_ , or shall we begin?

Starting, the peacekeeper shakes her head.

" _No!_  N-no, go on!"

Leaning back once more, the Imperial colossus takes up a fine golden goblet of wine, as he ponders his first question.

"What is your name?"

"Elizabeth Morley. And yours?"

"Mars Gradivus. What are your numbers? Were the soldiers we came upon the only troops your company has, or are reinforcements coming?"

"I refuse to answer that."

"Fine. Hm."

Taking a sip of the dark stuff, he sighs.

"Is that style of blade you wield common to your people?"

"Yes, why?"

Rising, he begins to pace, goblet in hand, boots impacting soundly on mirror-polished marble as he slowly makes his rounds through the ornate bedchambers.

"I refuse to answer."

"You're no fun."

"That's not a question."

"...Why did you forsake the shield? You wield a gladius, and that armored gauntlet, but no scutum."

"The caestus can intercept blows the same as a shield, though it is less adept at catching missles, of course. It is also a weapon in it's own right, as you learned in our brief struggle. I use it for the same reason you use a dagger in a shield's place."

"But I'm not a front line combatant, at least if I can help it. I don't face hails of arrows on a regular basis."

"Centurions do not form the head of an Imperial charge. We leave that to the Praetorians. They guard us as we close the distance, then they open ranks and we swarm over our foes."

"How forthcoming. You should be more careful with your tactics."

"You will not return home to tell them. Now, my question."

He looks out a window, to the endless wall of frosted stone that was, for most of his life, the edge of the world. Olympus.

"What do you call that?"

Chained to the wall as she was, Elizabeth craned to look at what he was referring to.

"The mountains? We call them the Skyrakers. Hardly clever, I know. And you?"

"Olympus. The seat of the gods. From it's foothills we descended, charged with our holy mission, at the very beginning. We had thought ourselves their children, birthed from the mountains themselves. Why did we forget? Were we ashamed? Did our pride bid us hold our tongues when our children asked us our history? I do not know."

He looks back at her, smirking.

"That was your question, by the way."

"Drat. Well, out with it."

"Well... we knew not of you, but you knew of us. If your people knew that we were here, all this time, why did we have to come to you? Were you afraid of your brothers over the mountains?"

"We had forgotten about you, as well. The Empire of Ashfeld... it's fate was a mystery, for centuries. I'd only recently found out the truth. I had found a soldier's journal, dusty and buried in an ancient library, written by a man named Publius. He was a soldier in the civil war."

"How do you know it to be a true record?"

She shakes her head and chuckles.

"It's not your turn, but I'll take pity on you, dear. First off, I've already undertaken a number of tests on the paper, and it seems to be the genuine article. Second... well, your  _here._  That's all that really needs to be said, doesn't it? The very fact that you exist is proof of it's authenticity. The empire  _did_  split into two factions and go their seperate ways, as the book said."

"That we could lose so much..."

Shaking his head mournfully, he continues along his path through the spacious chamber, running one hand along the cold marble as he awaited her question. Wordlessly, he motioned for her question with one hand.

"...What are you? A general of some sort? The armor you wear is ornate, and you live in as grand a place as this. Do you lead this place?"

"That depends on what 'this place' means. The Fortress of Aquilus? Yes. I am an Aspect of Mars, general and high priest of our Lord both. I am the Strider, the Conqueror, He Who Marches. I lead the Centurions, the chosen of Mars, and the shock troops of our armies. My fellow aspect, Ultor, leads the Salii, the scouts and irregulars of the legions. And lastly, Quirinus of Misr heads the Praetorians, who form the shieldwalls of our formations and guard us from our enemies whilst we close in for the kill."

Looking down at one caestus-clad hand, he grimaces as he closes it into a fist.

"But the Empire? I'm afraid that is in the hands of a fool. Our so called _'emperor'_  is content to sit in place, while the lands beyond our borders writhe in chaos and barbarity. The cruelties they visit upon themselves are far greater than that which our war would bring to them, and yet he  _dares_  to talk of peace. Thankfully, I know something he doesn't."

Taking the moment of reflection to look around for some method of escape, she eggs on his monologue.

"Oh? And that would be?"

"That while he leads the country, I lead the army. And that a country is merely the land an army defends. Should I wish it, I could wipe him from the face of this earth, and take the throne."

She hadn't been stripped of her armor, only her weapons. Ripping a hole in her surcoat as quietly as she can, she retrieved the set of lockpicks stashed between the two sewn-together layers of coarse cloth that formed it, and set to work on her chains. She needed to keep him distracted.

"Well, what's to stop you, my dear?

"The loyalist in our midst. Mars Quirinus. She hardly believes in Mars, much less the purity of our mission. The only thing she holds stake in is her coward Emperor. If the coup is to be successful with minimal bloodshed, we will the need the Praetorians with us. If we were to simply kill and replace her, we would arouse suspicion too soon, but she'll never be swayed to our cause..."

"Well, nothing a good scandal won't fix, wouldn't you say? If you can't remove her, remove her power, remove the respect people have of her..."

Damn, these locks are good. But it won't be long now. Just a little bit more...

He looked to the ground, deeply in thought.

"I have another question for you."

"Of course, of course..."

Then, Mars Gradivus said something she didn't expect.

"...There was a woman in your midst, who wielded a sword held in two hands. Like yours, but larger. Is that strange?"

Elizabeth was taken aback. Why in the world would he ask something like that?

"Wh-why... I... No. There are many like her. Longswords are common among my people. Why?"

He looks now to the far wall, littered with the arms and armor of a hundred civilizations. He enjoyed collecting weapons and ornaments from other cultures, and the traders from beyond the southern wastes provided in endless supply. There was an authentic example of one of the sickle-swords of Misr, instantly recognizable to his people, but nonetheless a fine piece, looted from the grave of a king. Then there were more exotic finds, like the two-handed battle-sabers of Zhonguo, or the glass swords of the Tenochcans, who plucked the hearts still-beating from their enemy's breasts.

This world was massive. More massive than he or anyone else could ever possibly conceive. With her very existence, the Lupa showed him this simple truth. And every warrior in it was unique, a new and unknown danger to his people. This panoply of death showed as much.

He remains quiet, eyes fixed on the wall of blades,for a long time. Then, it that same calm, civil, almost polite tone, he speaks.

"You... are not the first of your kind to come here, Elizabeth. Another came, long before. I took her as a slave for a time. She made a goodly companion."

Shuddering, he places a hand to his neck.

"When she held a blade to my throat and asked for her freedom, I gave it, for she had become a friend and confidant to me. I miss her."

She was staggered, utterly. If a Warden of Ashfeld disappeared to the south, people would know, even moreso if she escaped to return home. Looking to the ground in thought, she muttered to herself.

" _...What?_  I mean, you came through the same way we did, all those centuries ago, so if it was open then and open now, I suppose it makes sense, but, why didn't she...?"

Shaking her head, she looked back up.

"What was her name?"

"I don't know. She never told me. We found her there, among the frozen peaks, the corpses of a  _centuria_  scattered around her. She had been wandering the world in meditation, contemplating it. Contemplating herself. I remember... so many evenings we stayed up in this tower, whiling away the night in great talks of philosophy, ruminating on the nature of man... of power... of life. I suspect the only reason she stayed as long as she did was because she enjoyed speaking with me. She never told me of where she came from. She knew I would bring the armies of the Empire to her land. My Lupa had wanted that honor herself."

"Lupa...?"

Her hands stopped. A shudder ran down her back.

"Do you think that peace is possible, Elizabeth? I do. In her own way, I suppose she did, too."

Retreating back to the balcony, he stares once more over the verdant fields and distant mountains of his homeland.

"A nation is an animal, as much as the people who compose it. And, like animals, they are always fighting to survive. Fighting for territory, fighting for resources, fighting for their faith. The  _only_  way we will have peace is if there is  _one_  nation,  _one_  people,  _one_  god. Difference brings conflict. As long as men stand apart, they will try to rise above their peers. That is why I fight; so that one day, this whole world will have one name, one identity, and we can finally live in peace.  _All_  of us, not merely the few our precious emperor  _deigns_  to protect."

Putting his hands on the rails, he looks down the tower, at the great amphitheater below, the sandy earth of the arena sullied by sun-dried blood.

"I... don't know what she believed, truly, but I like to think that we shared that same ideal, in our own strange ways. She wanted a war... a great war, that would consume the world, such that when the ashes settled, and the flesh of the dead joined with the earth, only the very strongest would remain. That one nation. That one identity, that would finally bring peace to this shattered land. This world isn't big enough for two nations. It never was. And while I breathe, I will fight to ensure that our Empire is the one that stands tall at the end. That is the mission Mars has given to me."

He turns around, a smile growing on his face as his eyes met the ice in her own.

"I can see it... in your face. The Lupa accomplished her mission, brought war to her homeland, and made you strong."

His words. There was only one person he could be talking about. The woman who put that scar on her back. The woman that ruined her whole world.

The shift in her attitude was distinct, and immediate. She pulled at her chains, shouting up at him from her spot on the ground.

_"Your Lupa is DEAD, you crazy son of a bitch! We put her down like the rabid dog she was!"_

The news of Apollyon's death didn't even phase him, nor the ferocity with which it was delievered. He simply spread his arms wide and laughed.

"You killed her body, but her soul?! Her dream?! It lives on! In you! In me! In the wars we fight! Your lands do battle for the right to exist, to prove themselves worthy of command over the whole of this planet, and soon we shall join them! And when only one remains, soldiers like us will finally be able to lay down our swords!"

He leans down, joyous smile still on his face.

"A great campaign awaits us."

Coming closer, he crouches down, eye-to-eye with the soon to be unbound Peacekeeper. Raptorous even now, he speaks, softly.

"I have one more question for you, Elizabeth."

Still working at her locks, she leans forward, till their faces were almost touching. Through gritted teeth, she responds.

_"Shoot."_

His arms slowly reach around her, as if to embrace the woman.

Then, suddenly, his hands shoot down, seizing the thin metal tools from her shackled hands. His voice unchanged, he whispers.

_"Do you think me a fool?"_

Rising to his feet, he turns to the door. Elizabeth is silent, eyes locked on the floor. Damn it all.

"My brothers! I am finished speaking with this one! Have her taken to the pits!"

* * *

Asteria of Afri hones the tines of her trident in slow, sure strokes. The guard sent to supervise her seems exceedingly nervous about this. Glancing at him, she sighs.

"Calm down. What am I gonna do if I kill you? Break out? There's a whole army between me and freedom."

She looks back down, sharpening the blades to a razor edge.

"We both know how that'll play. I've been in here a long time, and I've earned the right to maintain my own weapons. Ask Helvius, he's the guy they usually send to supervise me. He takes naps. Talks about his family. Eats lunch. Basically a second break, once you get used to it."

_"S-silence, prisoner!"_

The inexperienced guard fidgets nervously. She didn't blame him, chances are he's seen what she can do in the ring. He'll loosen up.

Then, with a great rattle of rusted metal, the grate that formed the ceiling of the Pits slid into the stonework. That noise was starting to give her a headache. Usually, they used the doors to move prisoners in and out of the pits, like they would with guards, but it's customary to give new arrivals  _'the drop'_ , as they put it. Lots of new arrivals over the last few days, though she hadn't had the chance to talk to any of them. Leaning the short polearm against the rough stone wall, she rises to her feet.

"I'll be back, don't you worry."

Striding into the commons, her eyes sweep over her fellow prisoners, gathered as they were to meet the new arrival. They look at her like she was their leader. At least, up until they're matched with her. Then they look at her like she was Death.

Sticking her arms out, she catches the weighty bundle of fresh meat that came from above. No screaming or thrashing this time. Odd.

Looking down, it was clear to see why. She was asleep. They must've used that new drug the alchemists had been working on. It'd probably be a few hours before she was in any state to talk, without smelling salts to rouse her.

Her armor was unlike any she had seen before, and she looked strange, different than most of her fellow barbarians that the Empire usually populates their arenas with. So the Empire had found a new target. That'd explain all the new arrivals, alright.

"Lets get you what passes for a soft bed around here."


	7. Centuria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! Today, we step into the shoes of Alexander Julio Caputolius, a Centurion on a mysterious mission, Mars Quirinus, the last loyal Aspect of Aquilus, and Asteria of Afri, the savage princess of the Colosseum.

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 7: Centuria**

* * *

"Look, Julius, I saw his head split!"

"Madness! Do you truly expect me to believe that you thought he was a  _ghost?!_  You merely feared his steel! You are  _craven!_ "

"Why is he not here? Hm?!"

"He is hiding! Waiting for his moment to strike! But I will find him, and when I rip his heart from his chest, it will be  _beating!_  And I will prove to everyone what a fool you are!"

"And if I'm a fool, what are you? A non-believer, Julius?! Tell me that!"

"A  _non-believer?!_  That has nothing to do with it!"

"And yet you find it foolish to say that he was a spirit walking on the earth! There are planes more ephemeral than our own, Julius! Mars dwells among them!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Julius walks away, throwing his arms up in the air. Alexander shouts after him.

"Let us hope you find the fairer of them, Julius, or you may wander as that warlord did, someday!"

Leaning back in his chair, he sighs. It had been several stressful days since then, almost a week. They had found the banner -or  _a_  banner, as it were- and did what was asked of them to it, and so the 'lemure' was appeased. They had returned to Aquilus, and soon the  _hostia_  would begin.

He didn't have long to stop it.

He didn't hate the Empire. Quite the opposite. It was his home, it's citizens his people. He loved the Emperor. But this was  _wrong._  Slaves were common here, and the gladiator games came with the territory. There, the owners could win prestige and wealth immeasurable, and their slaves, freedom. But this? This was an abomination. In the Empire,  _his_  Empire, slaves are treated as family. To be cruel to them was a crime. Slaves could always earn their freedom, and often did; it was a rare thing indeed for someone born into slavery to die in the same. Slaves taken from military conquests were treated more harshly, to be sure- beatings or lashes were a common punishment, and they could be made a gladiator against their will, unlike domestic slaves- but they were former enemies of the Empire. Most of the Empire's neighbours simply killed those taken alive in battle. And even they could be returned to their homelands, albeit rarely, if they distinguished themselves in the arena.

But Gradivus... his slaves were treated like animals, beaten and butchered, sacrificed while still alive. In the other parts of the Empire, those untouched by his mad taint, the dead of battle were burned, and their bones ground, in a sacrifice known as the  _holocaustus,_ their noble warrior spirits returned to Mars, while living prisoners were enslaved until they could earn their emancipation by serving the Emperor's people as workers of the state or gladiators. But  _he_  either killed them where they stood, draining the life from them with that pugio of his, or corralled them into the arena here at Aquilus. There, they would fight until they die, a fate nearly unheard of outside of these walls. Maintaining a gladiator, even one who was originally a soldier, takes time and money, so most gladiators at least survived to die from the wounds of battle after losing.

As he said, he didn't hate the Empire. He didn't hate the slaves it took, or the battles it made them take part in. But...

...She had been a slave far too long. And under far too cruel a master. And now, if he didn't find someway to help her, she would die here, slaughtered like a pig by a madman who thought himself a prophet.

"...I'm coming, Asteria. I swear."

* * *

_"...n-no, maria, please, not while the other sisters can hear..."_

"Oh, what the hell is this?"

Asteria of Afri leaned back on her stool, sighing. She really ought to get someone else to do this, but she hasn't had a chance to speak with any of the new captures yet. Word around the arena says that Gradivus himself had this one brought to his quarters, and they talked for some time. If the big man himself wanted what this woman knew, she was damn sure she wanted to know, too. But for now, she had to wait out the elixir's effects, a task made all the more tedious by the woman's seemingly...  _vivid_  dreams.

_"w-wait, you know that's my...!"_

"Neptune's soggy beard, will someone get me a bucket of  _fucking_  water?!"

Setting one of her fellow slaves scrambling with the shout, she rips the straw pillow out from the Peacekeeper's head and wraps it around her own. What did she do to deserve this?

 _'...What did I do to deserve_ any _of this?'_

Suddenly somber, she rises. She's not going anywhere. Neither of them are. Might as well take a walk. Maybe see what's stocking the animal cages these days.

Was she ever free? What's it like? Must be hard, not having a schedule, a routine. In her earliest memories, there was something similar. She never liked mother, but the maids were kind, combed her hair for her. And father...

He was just a distant memory, by now. But she still remembers those rough hands on her cheek. That rugged smile. Asterion the Stag, the greatest gladiator to ever live. Her blood, her fate, even her name, it all came from him. 'Asteria', they called her, like she was his sequel. She can't remember what he called her, before he went away for the last time. Her  _real_  name.

Shaking away her errant thoughts, she looks around. She was in a great ovular pit, with an iron grate for new arrivals across the top, a locked entrance to the arena proper on the inside wall, and eight cells and one door for the guards on the other. on each tip, the oval led to a tiny, cramped hallway, leading to an identical chamber. with each cell capable of holding a half-dozen slaves, and eight cells being contained within each of the many sandy pits, the grand Coliseum of Aquilus could hold hundreds of prisoners at once.

As she entered the next oblong chamber, one calloused hand slid along the stone, till it was stone no longer, and that same hand wrapped along a tall iron bar, one of many separating the war-beasts enclosure from the slaves. Instead of an entrance to the arena, this chamber's inner door led to the sloping ramp to stables for the numerous exotic beasts that served as fodder for the gladiator games. The ceilings of the beast's cells are what formed the floor of the arena proper, so the corpses could simply be tossed down for the carnivorous ones to eat. Stepping through the door- left unlocked by a guard- she headed for her friend's chambers, passing along great chambers filled with lions, tigers, bears, and hippos, all thankfully barred from the central hallway she traveled along by sturdy portcullises. Arriving at her destination, she turned to meet a familiar face. Well, if you could call  _that_ a face. In her father's tongue, what little of it she remembers, she speaks.

" _Sidee tahay_ , Typhon?"

Being the beast that he is, the great grey bulk could offer no reply to her question, but he was happy to see her either way, by the way he reached his long, wrinkled neck through the bars to meet her palm. She had never met anyone who knew exactly _what_  he was, but some of the more intellectual slaves to pass through said that his kind were much,  _much_  more common before the cataclysm. He was gigantic, bigger than any animal she had ever seen before, but he was no mindless brute. He was one of the cleverest animals she had ever seen, his colossal body holding a mind that could match a young child's. She had seen him draw pictures in the sand, and sometimes she drew with him through the bars. This was Typhon, the only friend she had ever had. The only thing that she knew was safe from her trident's tines.

For Typhon was no ordinary beast of battle, to be slaughtered for sport by the  _bestiarii_. He was Mar's Gradivus personal war steed, far too precious to be squandered in the arena. Even now, a fresh scar on his leg has begun to fade, from a battle some weeks ago on the southern border. Strange, how the greatest weapon of her most hated enemy was also her most steadfast companion.

"Asteria? You asked for water? Is it for Typhon?"

Turning to the voice, she shook her head.

"The new girl. She was mumbling things I'd rather not hear. I've decided to accelerate her recovery."

"O-oh."

This was Lamarchus, another new arrival, a mathematician from New Hellas. Conscripted not as a Gladiator, but a secretary, to keep record of the Colosseum's upkeep and the comings and goings of slaves. Due to his noncombat role, she was starting to get attached to him as well. And he made a good errand boy either way. Taking the bucket from his skinny little hands, she nodded.

"Thanks, Lamarchus."

"W-wait," the Hellene said, suddenly realizing the implications of her words. "You mean to tell me that a new arrival is muttering a language you understand in her  _sleep?_ "

"Yeah. The  _lingua plebis_ , actually."

" _What?!_  I-is she local?!"

"Fuck no. I haven't seen anyone like her in my life. Another reason I'm eager to wake her up. Guessing your coming, huh? You Hellenes do love your mysteries."

All the enslaved scribe could do is stammer as he followed Asteria away from the animal cages, back to the mysterious newcomer's cell.

* * *

Mars Quirinus was having a bad day. Her stays at Aquilus had to be her least favorite part of her new position as Aspect of the Praetorians, and the intrigue and resultant paranoia she had perhaps unwisely submersed herself in hardly helped matters. She could have been in her lavish private quarters, wearing silks and drinking wine, but no, here she was, stewing pears in the middle of the woods. She could always get a poison taster, of course, but all that'd do is force her foes to adopt more direct methods.

Of course, she had no right to complain. Rome did not hand her titles to those who wanted it, nor those who deserved. Only those who could do the most with it. The Emperor himself had decided that she was the most fit to lead her brothers and sisters in their holy duty, and he knew best. And perhaps, if he had picked someone else, someone less loyal, Gradivus and his goons would be ready to move on the capital by now.

She couldn't send a letter, needless to say Gradivus would have it intercepted, but she needed to tell him. What she's seen here did not merely prove to her Gradivus' heretical beliefs, nor his twisting and molestation of her Empire's proud laws, but his out-and-out treachery.

One of her Praetorians had overheard him talking to a capture from the north. He spoke of the Emperor as a fool, a coward to be overthrown. Perhaps Gradivus would say she lies, but the Emperor would know the truth. She had saved his life from traitors before, after all.

"Keep your eyes up, legionnaire."

"Y-yes, my aspect! Ow..."

Wincing from the pain in her back, the fellow praetorian sits straighter.

"Why do I have to go with you on these expeditions, again?"

"Because you owe me your life, and unlikely to betray me as a result. That, and I could kill you easily if I had too."

"Oh."

Legionnaire Delilah was still recovering from her visit to the lictor, but it was far better a punishment than she could ever hoped to suffer otherwise.

"...Why did you save me? Is it because I'm like-"

"Me? Because were both women, or both Misrian? Or both praetorians? No. The law does not play favorites. Nor do I. I saved you because this is an abomination, and you ought not be punished for lessening it."

Looking back through the trees, towards Aquilus, she sighs.

"Aquilus, Gradivus, the  _hostia_ , his twisted game disguised as a ritual, it's all wrong. Our Emperor bore his heresies, his strange cult, because it brought us results. Gradivus is one of the most brilliant, most ferocious, most  _passionate_  generals our land has seen over the course of it's history, and for decades, he brought Rome triumph against those who would hurt her. But now he turns that drive, that fanaticism, to his own people. To the Empire. And if we do nothing to stop it, he will turn the glory of the Empire into something much darker. Or, failing that, tear her apart in a foolish civil war."

Turning back to the boiling pot, she sniffs. Not exactly a boar roast, but it'll fill their stomachs.

"I hope to slip away from this place and return to the Capital come the hostia's commencement. If you have any sense, you'll join me."

Taken aback at her offer, the Misrian soldier's gaze widens.

"Join you? What, am I your second now? I didn't expect to climb the ranks  _this_ quickly."

Pausing, she adds, somewhat sheepishly, "Especially not for falling out the back of a cart..."

"You're trustworthy, Legionnaire, and that's a start."

Ladling some of the stew and tasting it, she nods, and turns back to the soldier.

"Take some of this. You deserve something for the time you've spent here."

"...Of course. Thank you, my Aspect."

Each taking an earthenware bowl, they settled down for their meager dinner, in the fading woodland light.

* * *

" **GUH! SHIT!** "

Violently ripped from the most pleasant dream, Elizabeth tumbles off her cot to the sandy ground, soaked in cold water.

"Mars on Olympus! She does speak the lingua plebis! Unless 'shit' mean something else in her tongue..."

" _What?! What?!"_

Hands blindly fumbling at her hip for her dagger, Elizabeth finds nothing.

"Calm down. Only water, I promise."

"Who...Who are you?!"

Staring up at the two from her place in the sand, Elizabeth sits up, leaning groggily against the edge of the rickety little cot she had been lying on previously. On the right side was a skinny little man wearing a plain white tunic, with an unruly mass of brown hair and matching, inquisitive eyes. And to her right stood a lean, well-muscled lioness of a woman, with a thick iron Manica on her left arm, an ornate trident in her right, and perhaps the darkest skin Elizabeth had ever seen. Leaning the weapon against the wall, she holds her now empty hands up slowly.

"Take it easy, newcomer. I'm Asteria of the Afri, and this is Lamarchus, of New Hellas. We don't mean you any harm. At least, not yet."

" _Asteria!_ "

"What? I'm just being honest."

Leaning back further from the two, Elizabeth catches her breath, calms herself, and asks a question she thinks she already knows the answer too.

"Honest? Honest about what?"

"Well... you speak the lingua plebis, that's what we call your tongue. The common folk of our lands speak it, but the soldiers and the politicians use the lingua patricii, or Latin. You speak that too?"

"...Y-yes. Why?"

"Well, you know what 'gladiator' means?"

"...Yes?"

"Congratulations, you're a gladiator now. Welcome to the Colosseum of Aquilus, newcomer. Any day now, you and me could be slated to square off, and only one of us is walking away from that. So yeah, I don't mean you any harm. Yet. Get yourself in order, and Lamarchus'll show you around."

"I will?"

"Yeah."

With that, she walks away, back to the animal cages. Rising up to sit back down on her moist cot, she looks to Lamarchus.

"Real charmer, isn't she?"

"You musn't blame her. She's been here longer than anyone, or so I've been told. And this isn't a good place to be for any span of time. As she said, welcome to Aquilus, Lady...?"

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Morley."

"An odd name."

"As is Asteria. Or Lamarchus, for that matter."

"Not around here."

"Asteria?"

"No, Lamarchus. Here, let me help you up."

Taking the hand, she rises shakily to her feet.

"God's blood, what did they do to me?"

"A new innovation, from what I've seen. An elixir that causes or prolongs sleep. From what I've gleaned off the manifests, it's made using the pressed oil of seaweed and Mandrake extract from Misr. It's effective, but the aftereffects are hardly pleasant. Or, so I've heard."

"Well, let me tell you, you heard  _right_ , Lamarchus."

Leaning against the rugged stone wall, she sighs.

"Escapes wouldn't happen to be terribly common, would they?"

"Escapes? Yes.  _Successful_  escapes?..."

He trails off, having said all he needs too. Eyes turning skyward, to the pristine iron lattice that formed the ceiling of the central chamber, Elizabeth shakes her head.

"And what becomes of those who commit the former and not the latter?"

"Well, I've never actually seen it myself, but I'm told their knees and fingers are broken, and they are set loose in the Colosseum. With jackals."

Her hand against the wall balls into a fist.

"Delightful. Where can I get some bloody water? In my  _mouth,_ that is?"

"This way, Elizabeth. They've got a well for us down here. Maybe you could tell me of your people on the way? Neither me or Asteria have had a chance to speak with any of the new captures yet.

* * *

Taking a long drink from the crude bowl in her hands, Elizabeth sighs, parched throat finally quenched.

"And that's about it. I hope I wasn't boring you, my dear. I spin a better yarn without a splitting headache."

Sitting on the rough-hewn rim of the well, Lamarchus shakes his head vigorously.

"By no means! In our land, south of what you call the Skyrakers, it's always been a great mystery, the Empire's origins. To the natives of our lands, they simply appeared one day, with steel and fire, carving a place for themselves out of their neighbors. All their territory was once the lands of New Hellas, of Misr, or the Ajuran sultanate. It was only logical to assume they came from beyond Olympus, but until the discovery of Mars' Path, it was thought impassable."

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow at the new name.

"Mars' Path? What's that?"

" _What?_  You mean you slept the whole ride through? No wonder you've got such a headache, Gradivus must've given you enough to knock Typhon out."

That left her with yet another question among many, but she decided to do things in order and let him finish his explanation first.

"Right... Well, simply put, Mars' Path is a cave. Large enough to march an army through, passing through the whole of Olympus. Even with a constant march, the passage takes three days one way, all in total darkness, save torches and lanterns. You must've been out for half a week!"

Well, now it was Elizabeth's turn to be surprised. Control over her body still stymied by her exposure to the Empire's sleeping elixir, it was all she could do to keep herself from dropping her bowl.

"...Well, I certainly feel like it."

Concerned, the New Hellene reaches a hand out for the Peacekeeper.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth? I haven't a clue how a dose of elixir such as the one you've been exposed too might affect your body. Especially since... well, there's a bit more gray in your hair than most gladiators I've met."

Smiling weakly, she shakes off the concerned hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be fine, dear. Just give me some time."

"Well, we haven't got any. Try this."

Jumping in surprise, Elizabeth shakily turns around to see Asteria, holding a bag of  _something_  in one hand, and her trident and buckler together in the other.

"Huh? Wha-"

Asteria shoves the bag in her face. Instantly, her senses are assaulted by the scent of sal ammoniac with all the finesse of a dane axe, almost sending her stumbling back into the well.

And then Asteria slaps her.

Sent to one knee by the blow, she shoots back up, now  _quite_ awake, and grabs at her hip in blind anger, reaching for a sword that didn't exist, sending Lamarchus shriveling back into one corner of the room.

"How  _dare_  you?!"

"Good. Angry's good."

Snorting at the anger on her face, Asteria leans her trident against a nearby wall before tossing her a very familiar helmet, followed by her twin blades.

"What's her name, Lamarchus?"

"Eliza-"

Stepping closer, Elizabeth cuts him off, eyes locked on the exceedingly rude gladiatrix.

" _ELIZABETH._ "

"We're on, Elizabeth. You, me, and some imports from down south. Lions."

"Lions? My land has record of them, but I've never seen one in real life before."

"Well, you'll get a real close look soon. They like to put newcomers up against beasts, give them some experience in the pits before setting them up against people. I've got your back..."

Whirling around, she takes up her weapon and small shield once more.

"...This time."

* * *

"I hear you say Asteria's got a match, Legionnaire?"

"Yes, my Centurion. Doesn't look like much of an interesting show, though. Just some ragged old cats from Afer. No trouble for her, but I hear the slave Gradivus had taken up to his quarters is fighting with her, all the same. Why?"

"What? Don't tell me you don't know, Marcus? Our Alexander's got an eye on for that ebon beauty! Ears prick up whenever he so much as catches a whiff of her."

"Huh? Really, sir?"

Without another word, Alexander turns tail and strides out of the barracks, out into the stone hall, to one legionnaires roaring laughter and the others plaintive attempts at an apology. It was just a beast hunt, of course, but whenever she went out there it set him on edge. At least she's got some backup this time.

What to do, what to do? Damn it all, he never expected to be tied up in something like this. Damn his mother for not telling him sooner. He was a soldier, not a saboteur. He couldn't let her die like this, not now.

An oath is not lightly broken.

He needed to be out there. To see. To offer his prayers for her, as little a traitors plea meant to Mars.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, he walks, blindly, into the t-shaped juncture of the hall ahead of him, and right into a black-iron cuirass coming from the right.

Stumbling back he curses and looks up-

-To see none other than Mars Gradivus himself.

"M-my Aspect! Hail to Mars!"

Unaffected by the collision, Gradivus looks down, calmly, at the centurion.

"...Hail to Mars, Centurion Alexander. Are you alright? Such missteps are beyond you, or so I thought."

"O-of course, my aspect, I was merely on my way to the stands, to watch the show. I hear Asteria of the Afri is fighting today."

Gradivus raises an eyebrow at his nervous tone.

"Do you worry for her? A fan? She is well loved by the people, indeed. Just like her father."

A nervous smile crosses Alexander's face, a well-faked twinge of embarrassment crossing his expression.

"Ah... It is as you say, my Aspect."

"Hm. You needn't fret, my son. Her strength will see her prevail."

Suddenly, Gradivus puts a hand on his shoulder, and it takes all his self-control not to jump at the touch.

"Come, sit with me. The  _ima cavea_  offers a finer view than the public stands. More comfortable, too. I've been meaning to speak with you for some time now, anyway."

Talk? There was perhaps no one in the world he was less eager to speak with right now than Mars Gradivus, but he could hardly refuse, at least not without arousing his suspicion.

"...Thank you, my Aspect. I am honored."

Gradivus removed his bearded helmet, revealing a scarred, half-blind face and graying hair. Tucking the helmet under one arm, the nigh-mythical general turned back to the path ahead, into the core of Aquilus, and the grand amphitheater that lies at it's heart. Hesitating for just a moment, Alexander follows behind, out into the sunlight. Out into the stands of the Colosseum.

Before him, from his place upon the raised ring of seats that overlooked it, there was a great oval, with the center and borders both composed of glittering sand, separated by a smaller ovular ring of rusty iron lattices, from which he could hear the endless racket of a hundred different predators, hungry and ready to kill. Two gates stood at either narrow tip of the oval, where the prisoners, beasts, or both would be herded into the arena to fight. The seats themselves were divided into three tiers, the ima cavea being the closest to the pit and the lowest to the ground, allowing those allowed to sit there the clearest view of the fight. Some ways to the right, along rows upon rows of stone seating, was Mars Gradivus' personal booth, cushioned seats shaded from the harsh sunlight by a layer of fine dyed silk. Dropping into his favorite seat and taking up a goblet of wine placed beside it less than a minute before by a now absent slave, Gradivus sighs and waves Alexander over.

"Take any seat you so desire, my son. I'd have had two glasses of wine set out, but I didn't know I'd be having an visitor."

"You don't need to worry about me, sir. Shade and comfort is already more than enough."

He awkwardly places himself upon a velvet cushion. Swishing the deep red liquid around in his gilded cup, Gradivus looks down to the sandy pits.

"Are you old enough to have seen her father in the pits, Alexander?"

"Asterion the Stag? No, sir, I'm afraid not."

"Really? You're younger than I thought. A shame. Those were better times. The Empire still understood it's purpose, to bring order to the wildlands to the south. He was one of the fruits of our labors, a vicious mamluk of the Ajuran kingdom."

With one gauntlet-clad hand, he tapped the scar across the pit where his left eye once sat.

"He gave me this. A more thrilling battle I've never known since."

"I imagine they're still writing plays about it as we speak, my Aspect."

"Hm! I'm glad we don't hold such performances in this amphitheater, then."

He looks like he's about to continue, but a soldier approaches from the stands.

"My Aspect! The slaves are in place. On your orders, the fanfare shall sound, and the match will begin."

Smiling, Gradivus looks around the Colosseum, at the thronging masses taking their seats on the sun-warmed stone.

"Why delay? Let it begin, my son. Give the order!"

"Yes, my Aspect!"

Taking a horn from his hip, the centurion put it to his lips and blew, sending a deep, resounding echo through the whole arena. The simple tone was followed by a more complex pattern, as the aeneatores heard the signal and responded in kind, drowning out even the clamoring of the crowds with their cornua. Rising from his seat, Gradivus takes up a brass megaphone, like a horn, only with a mouthpiece for speaking instead of blowing. With it, Mars Gradivus booms, voice carrying out over the amphitheater, years of speechmaking and leading armies giving him the lungs and intonation to make his voice heard even from the other side of the arena.

"My sons! My daughters! My loyal fellows of Rome! Today, we gather, and look with awe upon our champions! Today, the greatest warriors of our united lands gather to prove their strength to Mars, and earn a place at his side! Today, we bless the coming of a new campaign! For to long, we have been content to let the lands beyond our borders rot and moulder, debased by the corruption of chaos! But no more! Mars has shown us the path to the north, and beyond we shall find a new world! A land torn by war and atrocity! But we will save them! Give them order! Give them  _unity!_ And when the lands to the north lie quelled, we will turn our eyes south, to the barbarian tribes of the great desert wastes, and even further beyond! That is the holy duty given to us by Mars! And it is by his blessing that it shall be done! And in so doing, we will become  _legend!_ "

He pauses, and looks over the assembly before him. The soldiers, the young men who looked to him as a god, whooped and cheered, mind afrenzy with thoughts of glory and holy triumph. Even the nobles in their fine togas applauded, if only as lip-service. No matter. The warriors of the Empire were with him, and that was all he needed. He wouldn't turn to the north, in truth, not yet, anyway, but these soldiers would follow him all the same, whether it be through Mars' Path or through the Capital's streets.

"But before we walk into myth, Mars requires of us sacrifice! A oath of loyalty, an offering of fealty! A gift...  _of blood!_  And today, the first of that holy tribute shall be given! Behold!"

He raises his hands, the signal to open the western portcullis. With a great rattling of metal, two warriors were revealed.

* * *

"He rather likes talking, doesn't he?"

"And his lackeys like hearing him. You ready?"

Twirling her twin blades, Elizabeth smiles.

"But of course. I've never fought a lion, but if they're anything like tigers, I'll be fine."

"What's a tiger?"

They were cut off by the rumbling of the opening gate, and the collective, blood-thirsty roar of hundreds.

"He'll introduce us, babble about Mars some, and let them loose. Keep a good grip on those blades."

"This isn't my first fight."

"Yeah."

Stepping out into the sun light, Elizabeth looks to the silk-laden booth from which Gradivus spoke.

"Look upon our champions! Vicious warriors hailing from lands far beyond our own! Cloaked in hushed cloth and shadow, comes Elizabeth, of the northern lands beyond Olympus! Look upon her bravery, for she carries neither shield nor plate, bearing twin blades and relying only on her finesse and wits to save her from death's jaws! Glory to her, in this life or the next!"

Pausing just for a moment to allow the crowd their moment to cheer for the gladiator, Gradivus spreads his arms wide.

"She is a stranger to this place, but not this one! Come forth...  _Asteria of the Afri!_ "

Walking forward without a word, the sight of her set the stands rippling and roaring.

"Does she need an introduction, my friends?! Is she not already known to you, to all of Rome?! Only daughter of Asterion the Stag, greatest enemy our Empire has ever faced?! Greatest champion of her time, slayer of a thousand enemies, taker of a thousand heathen lives?!"

Elizabeth looks to Asteria, raising an eyebrow.

" _Really?"_

"Yeah. Lets get this done."

Elizabeth had thought her stance would be similar to a Valkyrie's, with her choice of weapons, but as she prepared herself for the fight, Elizabeth saw something quite different. Spreading her feet wide, she flips the trident around so the tip was pointing at the ground, holding her buckler in front of her chest.

"Don't know what a buckler's going to do for you against a lion, but you're the 'taker of a thousand heathen lives' here."

"Yeah, I am, so shut up."

Elizabeth looks like she was about to reply, but she was interrupted by the metallic grating at the opposite side of the arena. The second portcullis was opening.

"Facing them today are the noble beasts of the southlands! With golden hide and fanged maw, he is the vicious jungle king of Afri! And alongside him stand his loyal retinue! Behold!"

As the gates opened, a great, hulking beast stepped out, all muscle and fur. Head turned back, it growled at something in the shadows- it's handler, if the glow of a red-hot poker from the darkness was any indication. Following it was several others, the same size, but lacking the impressive ruffle of hair around it's neck. Adjusting her grip on her sword and dagger, Elizabeth grits her teeth.

"Guessing the fluffy one is the king, not the retinue?"

"Uh-huh, but the girls always attack first."

"Girls?"

"Yeah. They try to get behind you so, uh, don't let 'em."

"Well, you've got my back, haven't you?"

"No?"

_"Well, you kind of need me, what with the bloody lions!"_

"I kind of don't. I've killed four lions by myself before. Just watch your back."

_"Why, you-"_

" **BEGIN!** "

With the bellowing of a horn, the last lion was forced out into the sunlight, and with a screeching slam, the two entrances were shut. The game had begun.

* * *

It was nearing twilight. They were almost done with their scrounged-up dinner.

"My Aspect, do you truly think that Gradivus and Ultor intend to betray the Emperor? I've... well, never liked Ultor, in truth, but Gradivus? He may be cruel to the captives of the arena, but he at least cares for his people."

At first, all Quirinus does is grunt, looking up at the sky. Then, slowly, her expression softens, and she speaks.

"He cares for his  _soldiers._  He knows that to win the throne, the army must be on his side. He cares not for the farmer or the merchant or the noble, nor even the priest. He cares not for the laws of our land, neither the old ones, the bones of the land he has sworn to protect, nor the new, which chart it's rightful future. He believes that all a country is worth is the cold steel and warm flesh that protect it. But he is wrong."

She looks back to her legionnaire, suddenly impassioned.

"My Emperor,  _our_  Emperor... he has chosen the way of peace. No more conquests. No more slaughters. Some say that he chose this from cowardice, some say it was complacency, but I know him. I stood at his side for a long time. He knew cruelty under his father, same as our country did, same as the lands on our borders. It taught him what his patriarch never knew, the value of mercy, compassion. He has decided to end it, and so it will end. For he is the Emperor, and all who follow the law of Rome serve him. That is my duty, and the duty of all loyal citizens of the Empire."

Legionnaire Delilah sits there for quite awhile. And then she snorts.

" _Vah_ , your as good a speechmaker as Gradivus when you put your mind to it."

"Eh? Oh. I'm sorry, when I speak of the Emperor, I get... passionate."

"You must respect him a great deal, my Aspect."

"Of course. All true Romans do."

"Well, it's a bit more than that, isn't it...?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Um, nothing, my Aspect."

Quirinus leans forward, eyes narrowing.

**"I don't think it was nothing, Legionnaire."**

Delilah flinches under the sheer intensity of the Aspect's voice. Her back was starting to throb again, all of a sudden.

"Well... you see... well, you always speak of being by his side -as his bodyguard, of course- and you revere him so... and..."

**"And?"**

_"W-well... he's somewhat infamous for never taking a... y'know..."_

**"I know?"**

_"...taking a, uh, consort."_

"..."

"..."

Quirinus leans back.

"I'm ending this conversation."

"Y-yes, my Aspect!"

She sits there, still for some time. Then, she pours the last of the broth over the flame, dousing it.

"It's about time you head back," she says.

"J-just me, my Aspect?"

"Yes, Legionnaire. I'm sleeping in the trees."

"...What?"

"Assassins can't find me here, Legionnaire. Until Gradivus is in chains, I will not touch a pillow from that place, nor eat of it's food, nor drink wine from it's casks. Why bother stewing pears in the woods if one of Ultor's wretched little sneaks opens my throat in my sleep? Might as well sup on poison."

"Well, if that is your decision... Then I wish you luck, my Aspect. I think I will take your offer. When you are ready, please, take me to the Capital with you."

Rising, Quirinus approaches the other Praetorian and offers her hand.

"I swear."

Taking the offered hand, Delilah shakes it.

"Thank you, my Aspe-"

And suddenly, she was on the ground, face first in the grass. She could hear the clamor of metal on metal, something like the rattling of chains. Quirinus was cursing up a storm and struggling with another, similarly metallic opponent.

Then, she hears a voice. Speaking the lingua plebis. Shouting it, actually.

_"Hit her, Garth, hit her!"_

"Wha's it look like I'm bloody doin'?!"

"Away from me, foul...  _BARBARIAN!_ "

With a roar of exertion, Quirinus hurls the chainmail-coated assailant to the ground. Now that she thinks about it, didn't she hear Quirinus say her favorite hobby was  _pancratium?_ Her own opponent was lying atop her, arms around her own, so, pushing her face into the earth as much as she can, she brings it back up, headbutting them. Grip loosening for just a moment, Delilah rips an arm free and drives her elbow into the invader's liver. Then, rolling, she throws herself free of the hold and scrambles to her feet, drawing her gladius as Quirinus readies her own.

She meets a familiar face.

 _"..._ _You! I took a dozen lashes from a scourge because of you!"_

"Delilah, are you saying these are the escaped prisoners?!"

"Yes, my Aspect!"

The large man who punched her off the wagon had only his fists, but he looked like he knew how to use them as he backed away and circled around Mars Quirinus. The woman who bled at the mouth speaks back in Latin, bearing a hefty stick aloft ready to strike.

"We're here to get our friends back, you slaving villains!"

Quirinus grits her teeth. How many more escapees were wandering these woods? If they had their senses about them, not many, but who knew how important retrieving prisoners was to this culture they had found beyond the mountains? Quirinus shouted out in the Lingua Plebis, eyes locked on the man.

"We are even in number and greater in arms! Surrender, and I will let you flee to your homeland! I have no interest in filling Gradivus' cages!"

The man speaks, a strange accent on his lips as he belts out the lingua plebis in turn. Where did they learn such a thing?

"Like hell! We're gettin' Elizabeth back, th' commander an' everyone else, too!"

"Commander?"

Without a reply, Garth charges, fist pulled back for a haymaker. She readies herself to intercept the telegraphed blow, but it was a feint. Stopping just short of her, Garth kicks at the fireplace, sending a spray of still-hot ashes in her eyes. Closing them, she avoids being blinded, only to catch the follow-up overhand blow from her enemy right on top of the head, almost sending her to her knees. Garth takes a moment to turn away from her and instead hurl the cooking pot hung over the fireplace right at Delilah's head, sending her off balance and letting Anna get a good hit in with her branch, Delilah stumbling away into a treetrunk and collapsing. With a roar, Quirinus hurls her Gladius, pinning the Warden to a tree by her dirtied standards, and ducks low, arms wrapping around Garth's waist as she tackles him into one of the many great volcanic boulders scattering the lowlands of Olympus. She rains blow upon blow into the Conqueror's helmet, hands protected by her gauntlets. Forcing him to his knees, she brings one of her own back and drives it into his dented faceplate, and he goes slack, beaten unconscious, just in time for Anna to rip free of her blade, and arm herself with it. Circling around the campfire, keeping it between herself and her armed opponent, she retrieves Delilah's blade from the grass.

"Come then, barbarian, meet your heathen god!"

Lunging with the shortsword, Anna stabs at her, two hands on the blade. Sidestepping and knocking the blade aside with her own, she swings her offhand arm down in a hammerblow, sending the woman onto her front, and the blade spiralling out of her hands. Rolling over, Anna attempts to recover, only to be stopped by the descending boot of Mars Quirinus, Aspect of the Praetorians, pinning her to the ground by her throat. She looks down at the choking warden for a moment before turning to her companion.

"Delilah? Are you alright?"

Rising to her feet, she leans against a tree.

"I...I think so..."

"Good. I want you to return to Aquilus and get some help. I'll keep watch over the-"

_"LOOK OUT, MY ASPECT!"_

Suddenly, Delilah charges forward, tackling her to the ground just as _something_  very, very big jumps overhead. Scuttling away, the Warden rises to her feet, and retrieves the Gladius that had been knocked from her hands. She was breathing raggedly, shoulders slumped, but a smile was on her face, and hope on her voice as she said two words;

_"Commander Marius!"_


	8. Colosseum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! Today, Elizabeth and Asteria face their first match in the hostia of Aquilus, and Marius endures his own trial in the form of Mars Quirinus, Aspect of the Praetorians! Or, is it the other way around? As always, constructive criticism would be dearly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 8: Colosseum**

* * *

Elizabeth dived under the hurtling mass of killer flesh, throwing up a spray of sand as she rolled back up to her feet and spun to face the slavering lioness who's pounce she had just evaded. It paced around her, keeping it's distance, growling and huffing as it pawed at the ground. She was supposed to kill this thing? Where was she even supposed to start? It was twice her size, with something sharp on each major extremity. At least with the tiger she had those bamboo spike traps, but all this damned ring had to offer her was sand, rusty iron, and the leering stares of hundreds. Not to mention...

With a snarl, it's partner, the furry-neck, dived at her from behind, and she once again only barely evaded it. It was hard to come up with a plan with constant pressure like this.

But she had to try. Eyes scanning over the two beasts, she searched, desperately, for a weakness, a vulnerability, something she could use to get an edge.

They were being more aggressive than most predators she had seen. Looking at their ribs, poking through their fur, they must be desperate with hunger. They wouldn't let off her, not for one second.

_"Whatever is the matter, Elizabeth? You are a veteran, grey in your hair and war in your muscles! Has your quick mind failed you? Surely, you have faced greater trials than this!"_

As Gradivus' voice echoed from above, Elizabeth couldn't help but grit her teeth and shout a curse up to the stands where he sat, setting those close enough to hear laughing. She didn't know who was more bloodthirsty; the lions in front of her or the sadistic audience on high.

The two beasts charged at the same time in their fervor, almost bowling into one another. Jumping forward, she planted one boot right between the male's eyes, stepping off and running up along it's back to land behind it in a roll. The crowd roared at the flashy, acrobatic maneuver, but glory was hardly on her mind right now. Rising up to her feet, she whirled around to see the two cats almost collapse into one another onto the ground.

And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

Hunger had made them ferocious, but it had also made them impatient. They charged her like bulls, without finesse or the expected predatory guile. She could exploit that.

She tosses her dagger to the ground.

_"Oh my! What is this, my sons and daughters?! Elizabeth of the North discards a weapon! A mind rife with low cunning churns! What devious plan does she have, one wonders?"_

She turns away from the lions, and spreads her arms wide. She knew that a predator was most likely to strike at one's back, and Asteria did say they liked flanking. On cue, she could hear pounding paws on the sand, barreling for her. At the very last instant, she jumps to the side, crouching low and grabbing a fistful of sand with her now free hand. As the lioness that had just charged her turned tail to face her once more, she cast the grit into it's eyes. The creature shakes it's head, howling in pain and frustration as it's partner approached her assailant from the rear.

Elizabeth glanced behind her, grinning at the sight of the sprinting lion. Breaking into a run for the lioness, she hurdles over the cat, just as the other would have overtaken her. The two beasts collide, spilling to the ground in a pile of struggling furred flesh. Lunging forward, Elizabeth takes her sword in two hands and plunges it down with all her strength. With a great roar, she hammers the blade into the head of the collapsed lioness, and throws herself back as the other lion swipes at her. A thin red line traced across one leg with a lucky strike of the claw, and she was forced to leave her weapon lodged in the lioness as she retreats. As she recovers her breath, only the male rises, with a bone-rattling roar of consternation. It was one of the loudest noises her ears had ever been assailed by... save the roiling screams of the crowd in reaction to her audacious strategy.

_"Mars on Olympus! What skill! What gall! Truly, we are blessed to see such a warrior in this arena! Glory to you, Elizabeth! You are our very own Asteria's equal!"_

Taking a moment to glance to the left, Elizabeth notes that he wasn't just talking about her bravery. Asteria had too taken care of one of her lions. It sat, still under the sun, her trident lodged in it's neck. She had thrown it, and with a tug of a leather cord wound around her forearm, the short polearm the other end was lashed to was pulled from the lioness, and came to rest by her feet, where she kicked it up into her waiting hands. A clever trick.

...And a trick she'd do well to remember in the future, as she was now left with no weapons before the lion in front of her. The death of it's companion seemed to knock some sense into it, as now it paced slowly around her, observing for weakness, searching for an opening just like she was. She had no weapon, of course, so she hardly posed a threat, but a blind charge would simply be dodged again. So, it waited, patiently, for a chance to strike. She looked past it, to the dead lioness. If she had any hope to fight back, she had to retrieve her sword, but how?

* * *

Asteria calmly held her ground against the growling lioness, eyes locked on it's own through her helmet. Her hand gripped her trident in a reverse grip, beast blood running off the tines in thin red drips. It was the perfect weapon for the ever-changing arena, short enough to wield against an opponent in melee and long enough to menace a charging one. It's branching tines could also catch a weapon in flight, or stop a beast's lunge like the lugs on a hunting spear.

But a lion was too strong for that. All trying to stop it's charge head on would do is snap the shaft, or tear it from her hands. She needed to hit it from the side, but the big cat wouldn't just let her.

The important thing to remember when fighting an animal is that it's... well, just that, an animal. It had no higher schemes or devilish plans. It did what it looked like it was going to do, and expected opponents to do the same. That meant they were very easy to fake out. Rushing forward, she sprinted at the animal, and it did the same, expecting her to come right for it. Instead, she dug her heels into the ground just short of it, and leaned back, away from the claw swipe she had expected from the simpleminded beast. Bringing one foot back, she kicked up a spray of sand to blind it for a moment and jumped around to it's flank.

Taking her trident in two hands, the thin strap handle of her buckler allowing her to grip both it and the spear's shaft at the same time, she slams the head of the weapon into the side of the predator's neck. Roar wet with blood, the mortally wounded beast attempted to force itself to the side, to face it's attacker and tear it to pieces, but from this angle, Asteria could put more force into her stab than the lion could match. With a grunt of exertion, she pushed the lioness into the ground with her weapon, and pressed down onto it until it the beast lied still. Wrenching the five pointed weapon- four spikes in an X, with one in the center- from the slain creature, she turned to the unarmed Peacekeeper. Might as well get this over with.

* * *

"See you're having trouble."

"Well... not all of us have the presence of mind to lash their weapons to their personage, dear."

"Yeah."

Elizabeth sighs, eyes still fixed on the now cornered lion. The may outnumber it, but all it would take is the slightest lapse in concentration, and that could quickly and irrevocably be changed. Glancing over to Asteria, careful to keep the lion in her peripheral vision, she speaks, still panting from her earlier acrobatics.

"I-indeed. Have a plan?"

"Circle around it, come from both sides. If it goes for me, get your sword and take it out. If it goes for you, dodge and I'll get it."

"Simple enough, I suppose."

"Complicated, you start making mistakes. Make mistakes, you die."

"Don't worry, I know all about Occam's razor, dear."

"What?"

"J-just get around it's side, would you?"

"Yeah."

Slowly, Asteria strafed around to the right, trident at the ready, and Elizabeth mirrored her, watching the maned beast carefully for any sign of intent. From above, right above, comes the boom of Gradivus' voice, his shaded box sitting just above them at the top of the wall.

_"A fork in the road, a confluence of fates! See the beast's mind work, like gears in a timepiece! Will it strike at the feeble prey, eliminate it while it is still defenseless, or face the greatest threat first, lest it strike from the rear? Our champions have forced it to choose, and so it must!"_

It pawed at the ground, froth at it's mouth from a predator's ferocity and a prey's fear. Finally, as the tension reached it's peak, and all was silent save for it's growling breath, it's muscles tensed...

...And it charged for Elizabeth.

_"Ever the predator! As it does on the plains of Afer, it strikes for the weakest of the pack!"_

Elizabeth waited, waited for the last moment, waited for the lunging pounce, the yawning maw of death to come flying at her. Waited for her moment. To step aside, to dodge, and give Asteria her shot at it's flank.

But that moment never came. Maybe it was Asteria's boots coming down on the iron lattice that girded the very edge of the arena's breadth, or Gradivus' booming voice from above. Or maybe it was the instinctive flinch on Elizabeth's part as the lion charged for her, somehow making her seem more or less threatening in it's simple brain. The why didn't really matter, and she'd never know for sure anyhow. All that matters is what it did.

All that matters, is that, for once, Asteria's instincts were wrong. It was an animal, lacking in stratagem, but all the same, it didn't do what it looked like it was going to do.

Instead, it stopped, turned on its tail, and lunged for Asteria. Gradivus' bombastic demeanor dropped, just as the megaphone did from his mouth. But, close enough to his box as Elizabeth was, she could still hear what he said.

"What-?!"

She could hear someone else too, some other spectator there alongside him, silent until now. With how loud he was, she suspected the rest of the stands could hear too.

* * *

Rushing forward and putting his hands on the rails, Alexander screamed.

_"ASTERIA!"_

Cursing, the woman thrusts her trident forward at the lunging cat, but it's head went low, the trident's many points catching nothing but fur. It's head slammed into her gut like a battering ram, and it was on top of her. Trident knocked from her grasp and much too long to maneuver under the lion's crushing bulk, Asteria shoved her buckler into it's yawning jaws to stop a lethal bite, and rained blow after blow onto it's head, but it was no use. Raking the lightly armored woman, the lion tore a deep gouge in her arm with one wild swing of it's paw, and at long last, the audience heard something other than steely silence from the Arena's Champion, as she cried out in pain.

Gradivus watched as Alexander leaned over the railings, half ready to hop the partition, climb down into the arena, and rip the lion off her himself.

"Alexander! What are you-?!"

The words died in his mouth, however, as yet another surprise graced the lucky audience of the Colosseum.

* * *

The lion was between her and the lioness' corpse. It was too far, there and back. If she went for her sword, Asteria would die. In truth, that probably shouldn't be as dire a prospect as it was to her, with how she's been treated by the gladiatrix, but all the same, she couldn't just leave her to be mauled to death by some damned cat.

But, looking at her feet, she saw that she didn't need too.

* * *

Of all the ways to go out. A fucking lion? She had killed god knows how many lions in her life, and faced off against much worse.

Was this all life is? Luck? Did she get where she was by making a bunch of glorified coin flips?

Damn it. All her life, she'd been waiting... for a chance. A chance to break free, to lash out. To take that fucker above her head down. But... she'll never get one. All her life would amount to is some fond memories for Gradivus and his bloodthirsty entourage.

Just like her father.

But, somehow, the weight pressing down on her grew lighter. With a howl of pain, the lion rose up, thrashing itself madly, like it was on fire.

Working on instinct, Asteria rolled out from under it, hissing in pain as sand filled the deep slash on her shoulder. Jumping up, she took her trident and prepared to stab at it, but as she turned and gripped the weapon in two hands, she found the lion already gone, bounding off across the sand like it was running from death itself, leaving a thick trail of blood behind it.

And perched atop it, like some insane jockey, was Elizabeth Morley, warrior of the north, one hand gripping it's mane with all her strength, and the other plunging the dagger she had discarded in the sand earlier frantically into the back of it's neck.

* * *

_"Guh! Die, you fucking cat! I'll teach you to-! ...Urgh, GOD DAMN IT!"_

Roaring, the lion jumps up and down, shaking violently, trying to throw off the assassin on it's back. Her hand was a blur of blood and steel, stab-stab-stabbing away until it collapsed onto it's side with one last shudder, half-pinning her under it.

And then she kept stabbing. She wasn't sure how long, but it was long enough that the cheers had died out, and long enough that Asteria had managed to stagger over to her and put a hand on her still steadily stabbing shoulder. Adrenaline was a hell of a thing.

"I... uh, think you got it."

She stopped stabbing. One leg pinned under it's bulk, she twisted her torso awkwardly to face her. Her whole front was sticky with blood. She could taste it in her mouth.

"...Oh. Yes, seems I did. I've... decided I rather don't like fighting lions."

Shaking her head, Asteria lifts the lion enough for the Peacekeeper to worm her way out from under it.

"You'll get used to it. Probably, anyway."

Looking around at the silent stands, she shakes her head, one hand over the wound on her shoulder, the other one holding her trident and buckler both.

"Well... let's present arms."

"Present arms?"

"Put your dagger up in the air. It's kinda like the signal that the fight is officially 'over'. I like to think of it as stabbing god."

"...Ah."

Sheepishly, she points her dagger to the sky, and Asteria does the same with her trident.

And, once more, the crowd explodes. Denarii fly like bullets, scarves and flowers flutter down from the heavens, minstrels break out into their impromptu first renditions of the songs they'll be writing about this fight. Even Gradivus is shaken, as he takes up the megaphone once more.

 _"W...W-Well! Mars on Olympus, even_   _I am stymied! The all of us, the whole of Rome, are laid low with awe! Glory! Glory! Eternal glory upon the two of you! Never has Mars sent us a greater omen than this THRILLING display! And at the hostia's very commencement, at that! Rest now, my champions! Let wounds become scars! Let thought become memory! Let what our eyes see become what our hearts know, and let truth... become LEGEND!"_

Grinning, Elizabeth slaps Asteria on her unwounded shoulder.

"You may not have my back, but I've got yours, my dear."

Asteria turns to her, face hidden behind her helmet. Then, she steps past her, eyes on the opening gate, back into the pits.

"You shouldn't have done that. Now, you've got one more to deal with."

Looking down, shoulders sagging, she strides over to her sword, rips it out of the lion's head, and sighs.

"Probably should've expected something like that."

* * *

Mars Quirinus rushes for her spear and shield, tossing her gladius to Delilah to make up for the weapon pilfered by Anna. Turning around and coming to a stop, the great mass reveals itself to be a colossal warhorse, larger than she had ever seen.

Well, no, that wasn't quite right. She had seen it, only once before, alongside the man who rode it.

_"You...!"_

Stepping down from Lamri, Marius takes his Rose in two hands, silver plate gleaming in the fading sunlight. A hole had been punched into one pauldron, by the spear she had thrown all those days ago.

"Ashfeldian plate has taken far worse than a spear cast by hand, and so have I. Surrender."

"Commander! We had no idea what happened to you!"

Quirinus points her spear at the Warden.

"Silence, wastrel."

Raising her shield, she strides forward, unafraid of the ironclad man.

"You intrude upon our lands, strike at our heart unaided, and you dare to ask me to surrender? The three of you cannot hope to take Aquilus by yourself. Leave this place, and spare the world of unnecessary bloodshed."

Marius marches for her in turn, unwavering, halberd held steady.

"I cannot. To do so would be to turn my back on my soldiers, the men and women under my protection. To shirk every oath I've ever sworn. Even if it's with two soldiers at my side instead of two hundred, I will fight with all I have for their freedom."

Standing half a dozen paces apart now, weapons at the ready, Quirinus sighs. She looks to Delilah, standing still but cautiously on guard across from the woman invader. Then, she looks back to Marius.

"And it will be in vain. I will not let you pass."

Leveling his polearm, Marius nods solemnly.

"There is only one thing to do, then."

He lunged, spearpoint aimed for the gaps in her lorica segmentata. Quickly bringing her shield up to deflect the blow, Quirinus counterattacks with her pilum, aiming for the hole in his pauldron. Dodging to the side, Marius swings his weapon in a wide arc, only for her to catch it with her scutum and thrust once more, aiming for the slats of his visor. He just turns his head to the side, and the point slides off the rounded surface of his helmet with a sickening screech, leaving little more than a scratch in the thin silver veneer coating the steel helmet. Shoving her with his polearm's haft, he cocks it back as if to swing it, but as she raises her shield, he brings up one great metallic boot and kicks the scutum as hard as he can, sending her staggering back into a tree.

"Hah! Get her, sir!"

"Focus on your own fight, Warden!"

Polearm already brought back, he swings it down in a crushing over head arc, smaller axeblade down to focus more force onto the impact area. With that much momentum, it was liable to simply smash through her shield rather than be stopped by it, so instead she angles her scutum to the side, catching the axe with the long edge of her rectangular tower shield, deflecting the strike into the ground instead of stopping it outright, like he did with his helmet against her spear.

Throwing her weight forward, she shoves him away and brings her other arm back, as if to stab once more, but instead brings one corner of her weighty metal shield up, striking a blow to his chin that sends him staggering back, dazed. Leaping upon him once more, she thrusts again, and hits her mark, striking flesh past the hole in his pauldron. Shouting out, he draws the blade of a Salii from his hip -Mars only knows where he got it from- and slashes at her with his off hand, forcing her back. Stumbling back, bleeding from the shoulder, he shoves the blade back through his belt. She attempts to keep the pressure on him, thrusting at the wounded knight, but he parries the blow with the iron shaft of his axe and slams her in the face with the blunt end of the shaft. Stars in her eyes, she only barely raises her shield in time to catch the overhead blow that followed. Bringing the poleaxe back once more, slinging the massive iron weapon around like it was made of wood, he brings it down once more, with even more power behind it.

_"DEATH TO THE ENEMY!"_

She catches the blow with the thick boss in the center of her shield, but even then, the shock travels down her arm, rendering her shoulder numb and throbbing from the sheer force of it, and with a great snap, a crack travels down the thick iron sheet that formed the main body of her scutum. Just how strong was he? She needed to get back on the offensive, or he'd just slam away at her till her shield fell to pieces around her arm... or until he knocked it out of it's socket, whichever came first. He readies another crushing blow, but she doesn't sit meekly back for her shield to take it.

She brings her shield arm back, and as he strikes down, she throws an uppercut, the edge of her shield slipping under the beard of his axe and impacting where the head met the shaft. The clang of metal echoes through the forest, and her arm feels like it's about to fall off, but the counterstrike did its job; the halberd almost tears free of his hands, and she exploits the opening to launch another strike, smashing him right in the visor with the thin edge of her shield. Blood shoots out from between the thin metal slats, and she thrusts her spear forward, aiming to pierce through and strike his head.

* * *

Marius just barely turns his head to the side, pilum point tearing a slat free from his helmet, revealing one fierce blue eye to his enemy. He could taste iron. But that didn't matter. He couldn't lose. His men needed him.

Knocking the next stab aside with his weapon's haft, he swings from the left with the Rose. She catches it, easily, but that's not the point. He pulls back, hooking the edge of her shield with the beard of his axe, and pulls it aside, forcing the shield away from her. Then, he thrusts forward, aiming for her face, unprotected by a helmet. She dodges to the side, point passing close enough by that the axe blade behind it slashes her forehead, sending blood running down the right side of her face and blinding one eye with the red stuff.

_"Grr, futuo!"_

Backing off, she grits her teeth and tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe the blood from her eye. Marius takes the moment to rest in turn, pain from the repeated blunt strikes and the wound on his shoulder catching up to him. Angrily, the Praetorian barks at him.

"What will you do?! Hm? Tell me that! Will you storm Aquilus, all on your lonesome? You will  _die!_ And you will kill young men, good men, in so trying! Senseless death! I will not let you!"

Marius scoffs, spitting back at her from a bloodied mouth.

"You say that as if you are innocent,  _slaver!_ Why should I weep for the blood of young villains?! It is my holy mission to slay the wicked! The duty of all good men is to quell evil!"

"We are not all Mars Gradivus, _dog!_ "

 _"..._ What?"

Gritting her teeth, she pants, looking to Legionnaire Delilah. She, too, had fought her opponent to a standstill. Looking back to Marius, she practically growls at him.

"I...  _am Mars Quirinus, Aspect of the Praetorians of Rome!_  And the slaves taken here were seized  _unlawfully_ , in an _unsanctioned conflict_ , against the  _explicit_  orders of our most revered emperor! Mars Gradivus, the man who led that raid, that captured your people, is a _criminal, and a traitor to this country!_ "

Marius was quiet, staring at the Praetorian. Panting raggedly, he keeps his poleaxe leveled.

"So... you say that your people do not take slaves? I've scouted the perimeter of that compound, and I find that hard to believe."

Quirinus answers quickly. A woman so dedicated to the law as her would only naturally know them all by heart.

" _Unlawful_  slaves. Gradivus captured your men in an unsanctioned conflict, and as such they are forfeit under our Emperor's law. It is my intention to return to the Capital and make him aware of the crimes committed here."

Marius' shoulders sag, still wary, but suddenly much less eager to continue the fight.

"...Damn it. Anna, stand down."

"...Sir?"

Sighing, he looks back to the Warden.

"We picked the wrong fight. She might just be our only real chance at getting our people home."

Turning to Anna, Quirinus relaxes somewhat, plunging the butt of her spear into the ground.

"I have no intention of allowing Mars Gradivus to keep his slaves. As soon as I return to the Capital, I will beseech our emperor to-"

Eyes suddenly widening, she assumes a combat stance once more, raising her shield. Panickedly, Marius readies his polearm, assuming this whole conversation was some kind of bizarrely elaborate feint, only to see something metallic whiz past his head. Narrowly blocking it, it bounces off her shield with a clang, spiraling end after end until it lands, point first, in the grass.

A pugio.

"Damn. I was kind of hoping you'd kill each other off, but here you are, making friends."

Stepping out of the shadows was a familiar silhouette. Armored in lightweight leather scales, the man wore a black hood over his head and a cloak around his shoulders. He wore a brass mask in the shape of face, and in one hand he wielded an oddly curved blade. The same kind of blade he still had shoved through his belt. Quirinus narrows her eyes.

"So Ultor's finally realized I'm not drinking any of his special wine?"

"What? You've got it all wrong! We haven't been poisoning  _anything._  Ultor wants you to bleed."

Silently, more Salii appear from the shadows, drawing their falcatta and pugio.

"But, it was awfully kind of you to take yourself somewhere out of the way for us. And with these barbarians here, we even have a cover story! I'll be sure to hack your corpse up with that spear-axe of his, really sell it for the  _medici_."

If the Salii was expecting any sort of response, he didn't get one. Instead, she turns to Marius.

"Suffice it to say, we're not fighting anymore?"

Hefting the Rose, he scowls.

"This Ultor works for Gradivus?"

"His favorite lackey."

"Ah."

Without another word, he levels his poleaxe and charges, running one of the black-robed assassins through. She couldn't think of a better answer to her question.

* * *

"Excuse me, my Aspect."

"Alexander, wai-"

He was already gone, squeezing past the thronging masses exiting the public stands and disappearing into the crowd.

Shit, that was close. She wasn't going to survive this damn tournament. And even if she did, what was she fated too? To languish in these pits till the next one comes? He didn't want to hurt anyone. His brothers weren't evil, he refused to believe that. Just... loyal to the wrong man. He didn't want to have to choose between them and the slaves, but what other choice did he have? He couldn't just smuggle the Arena's Champion out of Aquilus without anyone noticing, he doubts anyone could. If he has to choose...

He won't kill anyone. He is no traitor. But, in the end, his fellow soldiers signed up for this. Asteria could hardly say the same.

He needed to create a distraction. An opening. He could only hope she could do the rest. Tomorrow, Asteria of the Afri goes free.

* * *

_"Ultor! Come before me!"_

Some time later, Gradivus pounded on Mars Ultor's door with one thickly plated fist. He could hear clamoring in the chambers beyond it as the Aspect of the Salii answered his call.

"My lord! What is it?!"

Opening, the door revealed his second, clad in a fine toga rather than his usual armor.

"Something bodes ill. I feel it in my blood. What of Mars Quirinus?"

He was pacing. Ultor was taken aback at the aggressive energy exuding from the Centurion, enough to set him stammering as he answered.

"W-well, I've sent my men after her. Only Mars knows if they will succeed in their holy duty. W-why?"

Suddenly, Gradivus turns, seizing the Salii by his shoulders.

"Something is wrong. The hostia... some threat hangs over it. I can feel it."

"D-did you see some poor omen in Asteria's fight?"

"No! No. She proved herself worthy as my champion, as she always has. Mars showed his favor for her, giving Elizabeth such bravery. But... Alexander Julius Capitolius. One of my Centurions. He acts strangely, as if he knows her. He almost jumped into the arena on her behalf."

"But... she's been your slave since she was a child. She was taught to fight in these very halls! How could he? Is he not younger than her?"

" _I don't know, Ultor!_  Which is why I ask you to find out more about him, instead of silence him. Confirm my suspicions. Find out who he is. Where he hails from. Where his  _true_  loyalties lie."

Ultor looks anywhere but the agitated general, mouth open as he formulated a response. Then, his expression grows calmer. He looks up to war-torn man, and says the only thing he can say.

"It shall be done, my lord."

"Good. Hail to Mars, Ultor."

"Hail to Mars, my lord."

Black cape flourishing behind him, he turns tail and leaves without another word. Ultor stares after him for a moment, then goes to fetch his armor, and set to the task which has been given unto him.

* * *

"You will regret coming to MY home! Butchering MY people! No one strikes at the Legions unpunished!"

Marius roars, lifting the impaled Salii aloft and hurling him back into the ground. Another swings, but he parries the blow, shoves his haft into the offenders face, and strikes him across the chest, sending him spinning away into the bushes from the force behind the blow. Yet another comes from behind, but he shoves the butt of his axe into his gut, forces him to the ground with a bone shattering kick to the leg, and knees him in the face as he tries to rise.

"Mars on Olympus! Get the fucker!"

The lead Salii charges, raising his falcatta over his head. He parries the blow easily, and swings the butt of the Rose the counter, but, unexpectedly, the nimble Salii ducks the lightning quick blow, drawing another Pugio from his robes.

"You sure do love that trick, huh?"

He slips the dagger in between his cuirass and his cuisses, the wide blade biting deep into his hip. Letting go of his halberd with one hand, he swings the unoccupied fist down in an overhand blow, but the Salii dodges once more, around to his side now, and takes his larger blade in two hands, swinging for the back of his neck. He ducks just in time, blade sliding across the back of his helmet and along the blade-like metal crest atop it with a spray of sparks. Whirling around, Marius only barely brings his weapon to bear in time to intercept blow after blazing fast blow from the elite Salii's falcatta. He was too quick for him to get an attack in, forced onto the defensive by the flurry.

Finally, striking the swung blade near the handle with the haft of his own weapon, he sends him off-balance. He strikes for his head, but the Salii ducks low and lays the flat of his blade across the back of his neck, angling it to catch the massive axe and carry it momentum upwards along the blade, whistling close enough by his head to tear the black hood off it, leaving him with only his mask.

Sent off balance by the momentum of the whiffed blow, he only barely dodges the retaliatory thrust, blade splitting open the chainmail on the side of his neck, leaving flesh narrowly unharmed. The Salii dances back, twirling his blades almost playfully.

"You're a clumsy one, aren't you?"

Growling, he tears the pugio free from his hip and hurls it at the assassin. He simply stands there, arms spread, as the dagger strikes him in the chest. By the handle.

"...That's not the kind of thing you try without training, friend.  _Let me show you how I do it!_ "

Hooking the wide blade with his foot, he kicks it up into his hands and casts it with considerably more technique. Turning his helmet to the side to avoid the projectile, it screeches along the visor and off to the side, but not before it's weighty blade tore the hole in his faceplate wider. Ears ringing from the impact, he raises his polearm above his head to intercept another downward stroke, but it was a feint. As he neared the Lawbringer, the leader Salii ducks down, sweeping his legs out from under him with a low kick.

Landing flat on his back, Rose flying from his hand, Marius was helpless to stop the Salii as he leaped atop him, straddling his chest. Taking his falcatta in two hands, he thrusts down for the hole in his visor. Grabbing the blade with both gauntleted hands, he stops it, but only just. The point was already past his visor,and slipping through his hands steadily closer.

"I'll be next in line for Aspect after this! Thank you kindly, friend!"

Gritting his teeth, Marius turns his head to the side. The metal slats of his visor catching the point and turning it aside, Marius loosens his hands, and the blade shoots down, past his head, the steel blade trapped mere centimeters away, caught between his face and his faceplate, point plunging through the inside of the helmet and into the earth. Grabbing the Salii blade at his belt, he draws it and swings blindly.

* * *

Running the Salii through with her pilum, she shoves him off the point with her shield. One of the last of them shouts to his comrades, voice thick with fear.

"We are routed! Retreat!"

Watching as the remaining Salii -all four of them- sprinted away into the shadows of the forest, Quirinus leans against a tree and sighs.

"So, the die is cast. Victory or death for them now, Gradivus and Ultor both."

She looks up...

And saw Lord Commander Gaius Marius Flavius of the Rose Legion, lying on the ground, base of a falcatta lodged in the leftmost slit of his visor and point exiting through the rightmost, with a headless Salii lying atop him.

Casting the corpse off him, he sits up, still blind, the sword lodged through his helmet making an iron blindfold.

"God in heaven! Have we won?"

Quirinus grabs the sword and yanks it out of his helmet, much to his surprise if the shout is any indication.

"We have. Thank you, northerner. Legionnaire Delilah and I would not have triumphed without you.

Sitting back against a tree, her fellow Praetorian chuckles wearily, holding her bleeding side.

"Mars on Olympus, if that isn't a fact..."

The Aspect reaches a hand down for the Lawbringer.

"I feel some apologies are in order, and some explanations."

Marius takes it, groaning as he rises, battered and bloodied.

"On both our parts, Mars Quirinus."

Anna chuckles, stabbing the Gladius she had stolen into the ground.

"Well! I didn't expect to come through that cave to make any friends!"

On hearing her voice, Delilah started, and suddenly, she looked much less happy about the current state of affairs.

"Wait a minute! I took a dozen lashes because of you," She shouts, pointing across the clearing to the still unconscious Garth, "And that bastard over there, too!"

"Wha-! Well, you can hardly blame us, can you?!"

Quirinus looks to Marius.

"She won't be a problem. An apology would be nice, though."

"She'll get one. But not here. There's a cave not far from here, where me and Lamri have been holing up since we arrived. If we're to talk for any length, it shouldn't be out in the open like this."

The Aspect already slung the insensate Conqueror over her shoulder.

"Very well. Point the way... Lord Commander."

* * *

Asteria of the Afri sat, back against Typhon's cage. Carefully, with a needle ran over flame and catgut twine, Lamarchus of New Hellas sutured the wound on her shoulder. She was looking at her hand, blankly. Voice numb, she speaks.

"It's happening again."

"Asteria? Are you alright?"

"You know what he called it, Lamarchus?"

He stared at her, not understanding. Just as he opens his mouth, she cuts him off.

"This fight... He called it the  _'commencement of the hostia'_. Do you know what that means, Lamarchus?"

"Asteria...?"

She looks down at her palm. Across it, were a half-dozen scars, all on top of each other to form a gnarled line of warped skin. A cut across the palm, an offering.

The blood of a champion.

"It means that every last gladiator in these halls are going to die. And I'm going to kill them."


	9. Commune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, brave readers! Today, we join Marius, Quirinus, and Elizabeth's respective parties as they heal their wounds, gather their bearings, and prepare for the raid on Aquilus. As always, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Oath Of Mars, Part 9: Commune**

* * *

 

"Miles upon miles of black glass... like something from a man's nightmares. I'm glad Lawbringer provisions are fit for long voyages. Even if we did decide to go back, we'd be blind for most of it, my lantern's about dry."

"You would not survive the journey, not in the dark. We've lost men to the blackness before. Those caverns go down farther than you can imagine, down into the deep heart of the world. Without light, you would surely lose your way and starve."

"Me and Garth thought we were to meet the same fate, for a time. I'd hardly like to put myself in the same situation once more."

Quirinus, Marius, Anna, a slightly grumpy Delilah, and a very grumpy Garth sat around a campfire, in the mouth of one of the many caves dotting the side of Olympus. Night had fallen, and the air had grown cold, but with the ever present rush of hot air rising up from the depths of the mountain, they only needed the fire to see by.

"Bloody cave. How long were we cooped up in that damn cart? My arse felt half ready to fall off by the time we busted free!"

"It's a half-week's travel, one way. You are fortunate to have had a wagon to carry you. Most walk."

Quirinus looks to Marius, then outside, to the horse lashed to a nearby tree.

"Your steed must be quite the brave beast, to make such a trip. Many horses refuse to enter Mar's Path, especially on their lonesome. Such a lightless place was never meant to be tred by animals."

"Nor men. It's a scar on this world, a remnant of the Cataclysm. How did you even find it?"

"Or get it inte yer head to try and find out what's on the other side? Ye couldn't pay me to go down there!"

"These hills have been the hunting grounds of the Empire for generations. It was such a hunter that first brought knowledge of it to us. His fellows entered, but he feared it and fled. Rightly so, for they never returned. But what possessed Gradivus to send an expedition through...?"

She shrugs.

"We weren't sure if it even _had_  an other side, or if it simply disappeared into the underworld, but he was certain that some land lied beyond, certain that it was not a mere cavern, but a passage. Many say that it came to him as a message from Mars, but I know that our god ill cares for sending such clear boons upon us. It must have been something else."

Anna leans forward.

"Something else, m'am?"

"Well... it's just a rumor, but... I've heard talk of a woman, that Gradivus took as a slave for several years. The stories say that she simply appeared on the foothills of Olympus one day, and disappeared with a similar lack of ado. For years, he would spend every night up in his tower, there at Aquilus, talking with her. The soldiers say that it was Mars in mortal flesh, come to speak with his champion."

"Wot? But she was a lady, eh?"

"Gods have appeared as stranger things in our stories, foreigner. Bulls, flowers, or waves of golden light. They choose to appear as they wish to. But all the same, I doubt that woman was Mars. If the stories are true, and she did appear on Olympus, then perhaps Gradivus realized that Mar's Path was where she came from. What could have moved her to walk it on her lonesome will remain a mystery forever, I suspect."

Anna looked as if she had something to say for some time, and sensing a pause, she takes her chance.

"All this talk of Mars reminds me... well, I've already told you of the...  _old_  empire, Publius' journal?"

"Yes, you have, and we thank you dearly for it. After all this is done, you must let me have it, add it to our historical record."

"Of course! Well, if Elizabeth says it's alright. But, something doesn't quite match up."

"Oh?"

"Well... The book speaks of the Empire's gods, such as Neptune, Vulcan, and indeed, Mars. But all you seem to talk about is the lattermost. What became of the rest? And of the king of the gods, Jupiter?"

Delilah and Quirinus both look at her, confused. Finally, the Legionnaire speaks up.

" _Jupiter?_ The god of the sky, king? Mars is the head of the pantheon. The others are there, Neptune for the sea, Vulcan for craft, sure, but Mars has  _always_  been the patron of Rome."

"Not according to the journal, m'am."

Quirinus speaks now, leaning into the cave wall.

"Well, you've changed since the old empire, too. Naturally our beliefs and ideals would change as well, if to a lesser degree. This was a hard land, when first our ancestors set to taming it. Perhaps they took more stock in strong steel than they did in fair weather."

"Hm. Maybe that same cultural mutation explains why  _'Centurions'_  in this new empire are burly men with gladii who punch people very hard, not leaders of a century."

"Well, uh, we've got both, actually."

All the knights look at Delilah quizzically.

"...'ow d'ye tell them apart, then?"

"The leader centurions have those little, um... comb things."

Quirinus takes over for her.

"Every leader of a century bears a ridge of horse hair on their helmets to denote their rank."

"Well, how do you tell them apart in writing?"

Quirinus opens her mouth to answer, then stops. Several seconds pass.

She looks at the ground, brow furrowed.

"...Capitalization?"

Anna raises an eyebrow.

"So, you can have a century of Centurions, led by a Centurion centurion?"

"...Yes."

Another pause. Garth looks around, confused.

_"...Well, what're ye callin' 'em Centurions for?!"_

"They are supposed to be a match for a hundred men! And in the beginning, when are armies were smaller, they were rarer! Generally, the centurion 'leaders' and Centurion 'warriors' were one and the same. As we gained in number, the number of Centurions outgrew the number of centuries, and the name stuck nonetheless."

Quirinus leans forward and hastily changes the subject.

"D-does any of this truly matter? I am as curious about you as you are of me, but we should be planning our next move. We can ask as many questions as our minds can hold, once Gradivus and his coup have been brought to justice. We need to get to the capital, warn the Emperor."

Marius nods.

"Of course, but if I may be so bold... I think I have a better plan. This...  _hostia_  you spoke of, it will begin tomorrow?"

As Quirinus nods, he continues.

"And how long did you say this trip to your capital would take? Three weeks?

"Yes, on foot. Why?"

"Well, we can't afford to wait that long. Neither can Elizabeth. As a matter of fact..."

He sweeps his gaze over the assembled fugitives.

"I don't think we should go anywhere at all. Quirinus, how many soldiers are stationed at Aquilus right now?"

"Six centuries. Gradivus, Ultor, and my own personal honor guards, alongside the garrison."

"And how many do you suspect to be loyal?"

"All members of my honor guard have my personal approval. I picked them myself."

"She's real good to us, Lord Commander! We'd march into Tartarus for her, all of us!"

"...Yes. Anyway, aside from my century, I cannot say. Why?"

Marius declines to answer the question, carrying on his own tangent.

"And how many slaves?"

"Two hundred or so gladiators, and about the same number of servantry. Care to tell me what your thinking now, Marius?"

"Well, you know for a  _fact_  that Elizabeth is a slave in those halls, as we speak?"

"Yes."

"Hah..."

Marius leans back.

"Then by noon tomorrow, Elizabeth will have each and every one of those slaves up in arms. I may not like her, but I know the kind of person that she is, and what she's capable of. She'd never let herself get caught up in this charnel house show you say Gradivus is putting on. All we need to do is ensure that they win."

All Quirinus does at first is laugh.

"Are you serious? Two hundred gladiators against six hundred soldiers?! This is a waste of our time!"

"Four hundred, including the other slaves. Take your century off Gradivus' side and add it, and it's an even split."

" _Even split?!_  Gradivus' soldiers are the elite of the elite! Armed and armored with the finest craft of the empire! Against a force almost half-composed of untrained, malnourished New Hellenes, they won't stand a chance!"

"A chance of routing them? Of course. A chance of  _escaping?_  Now that's a different story. Especially if you throw us into the mix."

"I hope your words are not fueled by hubris, Lord Commander."

"You misunderstand, Quirinus! I'm not talking about our skill or our ferocity, but our technology."

"...What?"

Turning to his subordinates, he grins.

"Anna, Garth! You still have your grenades, don't you?"

"Grenade? What's a grenade?"

Anna and Garth dug through their armor, producing a couple sets of black iron spheres and piling them up well away from the fire. Marius adds more. Many more.

Many, many more.

"God above, how many of 'em d'you got in there, Marius?!"

"As many as we need, Garth. As many as we need."

"This is amusing to watch, to be sure, but may I ask what these metal orbs are supposed to do? Do you cast them like missiles? I suppose they could punch through armor well enough, if you had a strong arm behind it..."

"If you knew the true purpose of these weapons, you would surely have confiscated them. I'm glad you didn't. These aren't just balls of metal, Quirinus. They're bombs."

Suddenly, Legionnaire Delilah looked much less eager to be in this damned cave.

"Bombs?! You just give bombs to everyone?!"

Now it was the Ashfeldian's turn to answer sheepishly.

"Uh... well, yes, more or less. We have a great volcano in our territory, you see, and a peculiar yellow crystal forms in abundance on it's slopes. This crystal can be refined alongside other ingredients into a highly explosive powder. With how much it pumps out, we can kind of just... hand them around."

Quirinus looks incredulously at the pile of high explosives, much too close to the fire for her taste.

**"Kind of just hand them around?"**

Marius raises his hands, startled by the intensity in her voice.

" _After_  proper training, of course! Right?"

"Of course, sir!"

"Still got all me fingers! Toes, too!"

Quirinus sighs, looking to the ground. It was the closest thing she was going to get to peace of mind.

"...How strong are they, then?"

"Strong enough to turn a line of shields into splinters. And unlike you, Gradivus' men won't know what's hitting them. If Alexander's display was any indication, half of them are liable to chalk it up to black hexes and flee."

"...Fine. If you think that this Elizabeth can turn the slaves against their masters, then I would be willing to lend my steel to their revolt."

"Good. Thank you, Mars Quirinus."

"Thank me after we survive, Lord Co-"

She stops. Frowns. Delilah's face grows worried.

"...M-my Aspect?"

Suddenly, Mars Quirinus looks back up.

"Who's Alexander?"

* * *

Someone was watching him. He knew it. He knew it in his blood.

Alexander's eyes dart around him, scanning empty hall. Fuck. He shouldn't have ran out on Gradivus.

_Mars Gradivus!_ Of all the people to stumble into! What were the chances of it? And what were the chances of being invited into his private booth for it?! And that damned lion! Was Mars against him? Surely he was.

But that didn't matter. He'd fight, all the same. He swore an oath. If that put him against the gods, he'd fight against them, too. The hallway branches, a stairway going down to his right. Down to the pits.

* * *

Elizabeth sat in one dark corner of the pits, just to the side of one of the many doors allowing egress of soldiers and slaves from the blighted place.

The attitude of the place had changed wholly between her arrival and her return from the arena. It wasn't exactly a carnival before, but the gladiators were at least talking with each other. Now, they stuck to their cells, skulked through the sandy halls without a sound, eyeing each other with what can only be paranoia. No one would talk to her, tell her what had happened.

So here she sat, in the dark, back to a solid wall so she wouldn't be stabbed in it.

Then, she spotted a familiar face, nervously meandering his way down the hall.

"Lamarchus! Thank Christ!"

He yelps as she removes herself from the shadows, almost keeling over.

" _Ach!_  Elizabeth! What are you doing?!"

_"Trying not to get shanked by all the twitchy psychopaths! What the hell's going on?!"_

"You mean... you haven't heard?"

"No! I haven't! No one wants to talk to me!"

"...Well, you were in that fight with Asteria. Did you hear Gradivus?"

She scoffs.

"Hard not to, with that speaking horn of his."

Lamarchus did not appreciate the joke. Continuing without reaction, Lamarchus' voice was quiet.

"Well... he said that that fight was the start of the hostia."

A long pause.

"...What? Hostia? That's the word for an animal that's going to be sacrificed. At least, in old latin."

"Here, it means... something rather different. I'm new too, so I didn't know either, but... Asteria told me. She's been through six before. The hostia..."

Lamarchus sighs, looking down, and motions for her to sit, dropping to the sandy earth and leaning his back against the wall as he does.

"...The hostia is a tournament. A 'ritual', invented by Mars Gradivus to bless his campaigns. Every gladiator in Aquilus takes part. And every fight is to the death. From the winner is drained a goblet of blood from the hand, to be offered to Mars, and they are crowned the new champion of Aquilus."

Eyes widening, her gaze bores into the New Hellene.

"The winner? You mean..."

"The survivor. The  _sole_  survivor, Elizabeth. The gladiators look at each other like they are ghosts or ghouls because they are. They are dead men walking, all save one. As are you, Elizabeth."

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She looks like she's about to rise, storm away, do something, but... after moment, she just leans back against the wall.

"...L-lamarchus..."

He rises to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I scarcely dare to walk these halls, for fear one of them might murder me in a rage. I am no gladiator. Just an clerk. I do not share your burden, and they despise me for it. I... I'm sorry _._ "

He turns tail to quickly leave, but-

_"Lamarchus!"_

-her sudden shout stops him in his tracks. He hardly dares to turn around, to see the anger on her face. But he doesn't see any, in her body or her voice, as she speaks again.

"Lamarchus... I  _will_  stop this. I  _swear._ "

He looks back, for just a moment, and disappears down the hall. Wordlessly, she puts her head back against the rough stone wall, looking to the iron lattice above. To the stars.

"...Damn it all."

She was hoping to get a better lay of the land before she broke free,but it couldn't be helped. She rose from the ground and strode for the nearby door, hands slipping into the tear in her double-layered tabard, where once her lockpicks layed. They were gone, of course, but something else had taken it's place; a key, lifted from one of the guards almost as soon as she woke up. With the desperate attitude in the pits, no guards were stationed inside the slave's quarters now, for fear a riot will break out around them, which gave her the perfect opportunity to try and-

As she stepped closer to the sturdy wooden door, the eye-level viewing slit in the door opened, putting her face to face with a Centurion.

" _GUH! I...I-"_

_"Hold! Hold there, my friend!"_

She stops backing frantically away from the door, panic replaced with confusion. The centurion on the other side of the door wore a helmet unlike all the rest, the faceplate hammered flat and dotted with many viewing holes, rather than bearing the semblance of a face like most others she had seen. She had seen him before. Leaning over the railings, crying out for Asteria. Urgently whispering, the faceless centurion leaned close to the door.

_"Are you Elizabeth Morley of the North? I saw you fight alongside Asteria. Look... I am a friend to you, and her."_

Stepping closer, she whisper back across the thin slit.

_"What's this about? You mean to tell me you want to help us out of here?"_

_"Yes! Yes, that's just it!"_

Perhaps it wasn't wise to just trust him outright, but if this a ploy, it was a bizarre one. And besides, that panic when he saw the beast upon her... that was real. And it's not like she had any other way out of this blasted pit. For now, she'd put her faith in him.

"...Very well. What do you have in mind?"

_"Look, I have a key for you! You can unlock the door and escape in the night!"_

_"...Ah. Well, I've got that part covered actually. And, looking at it now, it seems like there isn't actually a hole for a key on this side."_

_"...Oh. Damn. W-well, I'll just unlock it for yo-"_

Shaking her head, she looks around for anyone on her side for a moment, before turning back to him. He wasn't just someone to open the door for her. He was an insider. She could use that.

_"I'm staying right where I am for now. I have you now, someone who can avoid suspicion. I..._ _I have a plan, one that'll save everyone here, not just me and her."_

_"In truth? Thank Mars. I'm no good at this stuff."_

Relief quickly fading from his expression, he glances around nervously.

_"Speak quickly though, in case someone comes."_

_"Of course, of course. Now, listen closesly..."_

Fishing around for another stashed trump card, she begins to explain her plan.

_"Where's the armory for this place?"_

_"There are two. One for the weapons of soldiers, and the other for the gladiator's weapons of choice, like your sword or Asteria's trident. They are on the north and south tips of the amphitheater."_

_"Very good. When the first match begins, I want you to go to the soldier's armory and gather as many weapons as you can carry. Then I want you to plant this there, as close to the remaining arms as you can, and set alight this cord on the top here."_

Dredging up an innocuous iron sphere from her robes, she passes it through the hole to him.

_"W-what is this?"_

_"A pleasant surprise, my dear, a pleasant surprise. Once you've lit it up -at the tip, mind you, not the base- leave with all due haste and bring your pilfered weapons here. Unlock the door, and hand the blades out. Tell them Elizabeth Morley sends her regards, and that she wishes them all the best of luck."_

_"A slave revolt? Do you truly think you can surmount the might of Aquilus?"_

_"With that gift I just gave you, I think we can do a fair bit more than that. Now, I need you to do one more thing for me._ _"_

He nods, eyes solemn through his helmet.

_"Of course, Elizabeth Morley. Anything."_

_"First off, it's just 'Elizabeth', and second, let's not be too hasty with the 'anythings'."_

_"H-huh?"_

_"Well... do you know how they'll decide the matchups? How this 'hostia' will proceed, the order of the fights, the opponents, et cetera?"_

_"Yes. There's a ledger in Mars Gradivus' office."_

_"Ah. In that case... I want you to change it. Change the first match."_

_"To what? To who?"_

_"I want you... to match me and Asteria against one another."_

He reels back, barely able to keep his voice under control.

_"Wh... What?! What are you saying?!"_

_"When you set the slaves loose into the compound, it'll cause one hell of a distraction. There aren't just soldiers here, there are civilians, noblemen and their servants. They'll be panicking. In that moment, me and Asteria will escape the ring, and strike down Mars Gradivus. He seems to fancy that booth, after all."_

He was taken aback, barely able to stop himself from laughing.

_"...What an audacious plan, Elizabeth. I suppose I should have expected as much, seeing how you dealt with those lions."_

She grins.

_"Well_ _, fortune favors the brave, my dear."_

_"...Hah. It is as you say. Audentes Fortuna iuvat. Good luck, Elizabeth. Keep Asteria safe."_

_"I won't ask what she means to you, but... I will. Just, get your part done. There's a ledger that needs some tidying up."_

_"Of course. And... if we meet again, you may call me Alexander."_

Looking behind him, he sighs nervously, and without another word, slides the iron slat on his side closed, sealing the thin rectangular port.

* * *

As Alexander stepped away from the door, he could he hear footsteps. In a panic, he almost put a hand to his Gladius, but his common sense forced him still.

Storming by was none other than Mars Ultor, who had just received word of his fellow Salii's ineptitude. He rushed by, stride just short of a run, muttering curses on his breath, and not the kind of _'curse'_  sailors belt out after they drop a box on their foot, but real ones, or as real as a curse can be, darkly muttered words to cast blight upon a man's health or misfortune on his kin. Salii always were the most superstitious of the Empire's forces, political assassins and divine avengers both.

Thank Mars. He  _really_  didn't want to explain what he was doing down in the pits. Glancing around the corner, he walks briskly away from the staircase, heading for his personal quarters. If he was going to sneak into Gradivus' office, he'd need to get this armor off.

* * *

"You mean to tell me that there's a  _traitor_  in Aquilus?"

"Going by those standards, you'd be a traitor, too."

"You know what I mean, Lord Commander! To think one of his own Centurions would turn on him..."

The Praetorian Aspect was on her feet now.

"What does he want? Do you know?"

"I do not. All he did was convince his brethren that I was a spirit rather than a man. That your spear had killed me."

"So  _that's_  where all this nonsense about  _'lemures'_  came from!"

She runs a hand through sweaty black hair.

"Hm. Perhaps he can be of some assistance to us. He is the only covert agent we have."

"But how would we contact him? It's not exactly like we've got any messenger pigeons around."

Delilah leans forward, resting her elbows on the top rim of her scutum, bottom lodged in the ground.

"Pigeons? You use pigeons to send your messages? How?"

Quirinus turns to her, striding over to the legionnaire.

"That's a conversation for later. Right now, I have a plan. Legionnaire Delilah, are you ready to do your part for the Empire? Do your part for  _Mars?_ "

Delilah was suddenly very nervous.

"...Yes?"

"Very good. Delilah, I ask, as your Aspect, as your General, as your sister in arms... return to Aquilus."

" _What?!_  I-"

" _-Return_  to Aquilus, so that we might communicate our plan to this 'Alexander' before we act on it. Implore him, assist us in our Herculean task."

"But! But! Th-the Salii! They know my face!"

"So you will hide it from them. They will not expect you to return, and you are but a simple legionnaire, even if you are a Praetorian. You can slip among the masses, hide in uniformity. Especially..."

Reaching behind her, she produces their helmets, set aside before their ill-fated dinner and almost lost in the chaos.

"...With _this_  covering your visage."

Delilah is... distraught, to say the least.

"And here I thought you taking notice of me was what  _saved_  me from a death sentence. Just traded it out for another, huh?"

Shoulders sagging in defeat for a moment, she swipes her helmet out of Quirinus' extended hand.

"...Ah, to hell with it. What's this damn  _plan_ , anyway? We haven't really got to that part, have we?"

"You are brave indeed, my sister. But yes, let us begin. Do you have any ideas, Marius? You know the power of these grenades, and the capabilities of your own troops. You should decide our approach."

"Thank you. The first battle begins at noon tomorrow?"

"As I said, yes."

"Then Elizabeth will likely have enacted her plan before then. Tell me, where would they keep our arms? I have my Rose, but my fellows could use more familiar weapons than your shortswords."

"I miss me flail!"

"You'll likely find your weapons in the secondary armory, at the south tip of the amphitheater."

"Any cover? We cannot be seen until we are within the walls, preferably until Elizabeth breaks loose. Surprise is our greatest friend here."

Thinking for a moment, Quirinus sits back down.

"Hm... I cannot say. Aquilus sits upon a plain. At least a hundred yards of flatland in all directions."

"Maybe... tell me, do these woods extend to the east of the compound?"

"...What? I mean, yes, but why?"

As soon as the question left her mouth, she understood, comprehension replacing her confusion.

"Ah! Nevermind, I see. You mean to approach from the treeline at dawn, hide ourselves in the sunrise. It'd be a long wait to midday, but... I think we can manage it."

"Entrances?"

"One on each cardinal point, north, east, south, and west. The northern gate has been in disrepair for decades. Returning armies never approached from the north until these last few months, so no Emperor's ever bothered to have it maintained. We can slip in there."

Marius removes his helmet and leans back.

"That's all there is too it, then. The rest, we leave to Elizabeth."

Turning to the nervous legionnaire, he smiles, and slams a gauntlet-clad fist to his chest in a sign of respect.

"And you, my friend."

Quirinus puts a hand to her shoulder.

"Return now, my sister, and meet with this Alexander. We will rest here for the night, and come for you at noon. Good luck."

Shaking her head, she places the helmet given to her by the Aspect onto her head, and lets out a shaky breath.

"I'll need more than luck, but I'll take what I can get."

Sparing one last look to the sparse, fire lit party of outcasts, Delilah heads out into the cold night air.

* * *

Alexander removed the last of his armor, carefully placing his greaves at the foot of his personal quarter's armor stand. He was left in nothing but a tunic tied around the waist with a leather cord and a set of wool hosen. Though the Empire of old replicated the original worshipers of Mars in many ways, it seems their distaste for pants was not one of them.

He contemplates putting his Gladius through his belt, just in case, but that would be hard to explain away to anyone else wandering the halls. Even as unlikely as that would be, at this time of night, he couldn't risk it. He only had one shot at this. Instead, he tucks his sidearm, a broad-bladed pugio, into his breeches, and heads back out into the torch lit halls.

To strangers, the halls of this place seemed all the same, a maze of shadowy stone, but by this point, he was no stranger.

How long had he been planning for this? Half a decade, easily, but to him it seemed more like a matter of weeks. He had risen, slowly and hard-fought the whole way along, through the ranks of his army, and all for this moment. He was one of Gradivus' most trusted subordinates, one of the three centurions that managed his garrison. And, in a days time, that would all be over, cast away like dice, for better or worse. He couldn't help but think back to where it all began.

* * *

_It was her last days. Everyone knew this, her most of all. But, right up until the end, she sounded... strong. She had always been strong, perhaps too strong, from his earliest memories. She was a hard woman, and at times, a cruel one._

_But, all the same, these last few weeks, he couldn't help but think he was going to miss his mother._

_It was guilt that tinged her voice, that day, the last time he saw her breathing, not weakness._

_"Alexander?"_

_She looked around uselessly, eyes blind from the southern plague. But her voice was calm as she called for him._

_"I am here, mother. You called for me. Did you need something?"_

_"No. ...No, my child, I just..."_

_She rests her head down on the goose-feather pillow below it, and sighs._

_"I'm sorry, Alexander. For everything."_

_He was quiet, for a long, long time._

_"I... am sorry too."_

_He didn't know what else to say._

_"I know that I never treated you right. You... were such a strong boy, Alexander. You deserved better than me."_

_"You did the best that you could. You were all by yourself. Do you remember, when I first joined the legion? They wouldn't stop mocking me, about father. Now look at me. I command my own century, and in an Aspect's name. I think I'll settle down, soon, perhaps take a wife. You have nothing to regret."_

_Those last words seemed to pain her, perhaps more than the sickness did._

_"Mother? What's wrong?"_

_"Alexander... It's time I told you something. Time I told you why your father left us."_

_She sighs, and looks away from where his voice last came._

_"...Long past time."_

* * *

He was there. Flanking the chamber's double doors were two night guardsmen. He couldn't talk his way past them, but perhaps he could get a lay of the land. Stepping out into the torchlight, he waved.

"Hail, brothers! Is Gradivus in? I passed by Ultor some time ago, and he looked like someone pissed in his wine. Muttering all sorts of things, none of them good. I thought he might want to know."

"I'm afraid not, my centurion. No one's seen hide nor hair of him since this morning, after that beast fight. He went to Ultor's quarters, and after that...? Hear he's locked up in his tower."

"I'll try him there, thanks! Hail to Mars!"

"Hail to Mars, sir."

He rounds the corner with intent, as if he had some place to be, continuing until he was out of earshot. Well, at least he wouldn't have to deal with Gradivus again. But what to do? Even if he tried to overpower the guards, the commotion would only call more. A soldier's barracks, one of many scattered throughout the fortress, lied just down the hall, so even if the soldier's were at rest, they could respond if their superiors were attacked by an infiltrator.

But at this time of night? After a showing like that in the arena? He could hear clamoring and merriment from the open doorway, firelight spilling out onto the stone.

He could work with this.

Stepping into the packed room, he just spreads his arms and laughs, to a similar response by the many drunk men within. Seems they had broken out something a fair bit stronger than wine. Ingratiating himself with the celebrating soldiers, he enacted his plan.

Reaching over to a nearby soldier watching an arm wrestling match, he lightly pats him on the lower pack, just above his rump, and quickly pulls the arm back and assumes a shocked and indignant expression, staring at the man to the soldier's side. Clumsily turning around, the inebriated man slurs at the seemingly distraught Alexander.

"Huh? Somethin' happen?"

Turning back to the drunkard with a start, he stammers for a moment, before nodding vigorously.

"Yes! Something did just happen! That whoreson on your right hand just tried to pick your pocket!"

"Wha?!"

He turns around to the oblivious man and shoves him.

"What're you playin' at?!"

The other was more confused than indignant, stumbling back a bit.

"...Huh?"

Alexander could fix that. Stepping in close, he practically snarled, 'backing up' his new 'friend'.

"I saw your hand in his pocket, you rat bastard! I'll smash your face in!"

"What?! I didn't steal anythin'! You take that back!"

"So you're a liar  _and_  a thief?! If this were my grandfather's empire, we'd have lashed you to a cross by now! But I guess being a low-born bastard like you, your tramp of a father didn't teach you  _anything_  about the old ways!"

If you want to make an Imperial man angry, insult his lineage. With a growl, he swings one clumsy fist for Alexander's face. Ducking the blow, he stepped back as momentum bid it carry on into his 'friend's' shoulder.

With a roar of drunken fury, he dived upon the scapegoat. The victimized man's friends joined in, prompting his 'friend's' actual companions to assist him, and so on. By the time Alexander slipped out the doorway and sprinted back down the hall to Gradivus' office, it had become a full blown drunken brawl. The guards by the door were half about to leave their posts from the noise of it alone.

_"Mars on Olympus!"_

"Centurion Alexander! What is it?! What's that racket?!"

"They're beating each other bloody! Damn drunkards! I'll get some more men, you just keep them from killing each other in the meantime!"

"Sir yes sir!"

Without another word, the two guards charged down the hallway.

Well, that went better than he had planned.

* * *

Mars Ultor was not a happy Salii. He paced the halls aimlessly, thinking. Quirinus was out there. With those damned escapees. They're probably heading for the Capital right now!

What did this mean? What was Mars trying to tell him? He didn't know.

_He didn't know!_ How?! All his life, he had been sure of his purpose, a holy blade of war which would cut away the filth and blasphemy beyond Rome's borders. As he opened throats and stilled hearts, ended wars before they even began, he felt it come naturally to him, like a babe's cry. It was  _right_. Mars bade him move his hands, and so he did.

And when Gradivus came before him, he knew, from the first words he spoke, that he was the man that Mars had chosen to lead the Empire into a new golden age.

They had to complete the hostia. To interrupt a ritual halfway was begging wrath from his lord on Olympus. They had a head start, and a considerable one, even if they schedule multiple fights a day. But it would be some time to the Capital on foot. Could his men intercept them, delay them? Perhaps, perhaps. Give them the time they needed. After that, it would be up to Gradivus, and the Fates. He was a killer, not a general. But the Aspect of the Centurions moved armies like they were his own hands. If they struck fast, and hard, for the capital, they might...

...No. Not might. They _will_  take it. For that was Mars' will.

Intercept them, slow them down. Kill them, if only he could. That's what he needed to do. His Salii hardly mattered in an urban battle like the one ahead, anyhow. He'd send his century out, every single one of them, if he had too. On horseback, they'd ride them down like dogs.

...He shakes his head at his momentary panic. Such faithlessness. Mars showed the path, as always. He came to a stop, in the darkness between two torches, cloak rendering him almost invisible. Calm down, Ultor. Quirinus will be dealt with in time. For now, he needed to heed Gradivus' commandments, see to Ale-

He hears the creak of a door, and he instinctively leans into the wall, hiding himself in the darkness further.

He nearly scoffs at his own actions. Such nerves would be the death of him one day.

But then he saw just who made that noise, and from where.

Sticking close, invisible, to the dark wall, he watched none other than the centurion in question step out from Mars Gradivus' office, looking, ever so furtively, for witnesses to his sneaking, and finding none with his dull eyes. Tromping away in what he probably thought to be 'silence', the fool disappeared from his sight.

Who he was? Well, Ultor had found that out, sure enough. His actions at the amphitheater was the first nail, and this subterfuge now was the second.

And together, he would be nailed to his cross by them. Quiet as a ghost, Ultor made for Gradivus' tower.


End file.
